


Got A Little Air To Breathe

by dixiehellcat



Series: Wordsmith [4]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Avengers Tower, Avengers acting like they got some sense, Chrissy gets a new gig, F/M, Female Friendship, Fix-It, Gen, Getting to Know Each Other, Girl Power, Hydra-fuckery, Male-Female Friendship, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Steve Rogers Gets a Clue, Team Pepperony, The Avengers Are Good Bros (eventually), Tony Stark Gets Many Hugs, fixing a lot of its, some people need to hear the truth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-28
Updated: 2019-01-26
Packaged: 2019-09-29 07:32:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 28,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17199242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dixiehellcat/pseuds/dixiehellcat
Summary: The Wordsmith saga continues. Chrissy Everhart begins a new phase of her life, as the Avengers' public spokesperson. Past memories intrigue her, new friends support her, and she looks ahead to a future that might be more exciting than she can handle! (spoiler alert: she can handle it. LOL)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to part 4 of the Wordsmith series! This is the first one that doesn't cleave closely to an MCU movie storyline. Timeline-wise, it falls between Avengers 1 and Captain America: Winter Soldier. 
> 
> The title comes from the song Better Day, by the excellent indie band Saving Jane.  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6BwuSfbICBs
> 
> The song is about new beginnings. In this story, Chrissy gets a new beginning--a dream job--and in turn, brings a new perspective to the people she is working with.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chrissy prepares for her job interview with SHIELD, with Pepper and Tony's help.

Bearding a spymaster in his den was not something to be merrily tromped into. If, as my granny back in west Tennessee was wont to say, I had the sense the good Lord gave a turnip green, I would be running in the opposite direction, or at the very least, Into the welcoming arms of Stark Industries’ human resources department. My CEO best friend Pepper Potts had offered me a well-paying gig, with people I already knew from having helped them out in a pinch, spreading the metaphoric gospel of clean energy and social awareness for one of the biggest companies on the planet.

I didn’t take it. Instead, a week after Vanity Fair magazine decided Christine Everhart was too compromised, too biased, to report for them anymore, I stood in front of the huge closet in my apartment in Stark Tower, choosing what to wear to a job interview with Nick Fury, director of SHIELD. Fury had expressed interest in talking with me, though the Lord only knew exactly why, and my genius-superhero best friend Tony Stark had, God bless him, turned his considerable charm onto his kinda-sorta-but-not-really-boss on my behalf. Tomorrow, I would be (calmly, I hoped) sitting in an office in Washington, DC, chatting about, among other things, me taking on the position of public relations wrangler and primary spokesperson to the world at large for the Avengers Initiative, the world’s only organized (semi-organized, anyhow) team of superheroes.

I checked my clothing choices one more time and hung them up together for quick access. Initially, I had planned to take a flight from the tower in New York today, stay the night in a hotel, and get a cab to the Triskelion, SHIELD’s headquarters, mid-morning the next day. Plans had changed, though. 

To be more accurate, Tony had changed my plans. The messages he had sent out after he had designed individual living quarters for each of the Avengers had inexplicably gone astray, so only Bruce Banner had settled in the tower, until Pepper’s conversation with Steve Rogers during Tony’s surgery to remove the arc reactor and shrapnel in his chest. Once Rogers knew, the rest of the team was quickly informed, and things began to move; rather, the team began to move. Rogers was based in DC, but he seemed thrilled at the offer of a place of his own and intended to visit regularly. Natasha Romanoff, aka Natalie Rushman and probably a number of other names, and her partner, the only Avenger I had not formally met, were similarly situated. Thor, the Asgardian demi-god, was currently occupied on his home world. 

With enough of his team in one location, Fury had seconded a Quinjet to the building that New Yorkers were already calling the Avengers Tower. To be perfectly blunt about it, Tony was tickled shitless. He had mentioned the plane during my flight to New York with him and Pepper, wishing we had one of these instead of his standard, if pimped-out, corporate jet. The Quinjet’s maneuverability was eye-popping, its wings literally folded up, and it could land on the deck near the top of the tower with the grace of a dragonfly. Best of all, it was crazy fast, covering the 200 miles from here to DC in twenty-five minutes. That being the case, Tony had made an executive decision that I should sleep in my own bed tonight and he would take me to Washington in the morning.

Final preparations for my adventure done, I headed for my kitchen. It was still new and fun enough to think: my kitchen, my apartment, my whole damn _floor_ for crying out loud. Tony and Pepper had schemed to lure me from Vanity Fair, and designed this space just for me. The thought and the sight of the place always made me smile, and right now, I needed the smile to stave off the nerves. With any luck, I could scare up something for supper that would settle my anxious stomach. “Miss Everhart,” JARVIS’ voice drew my attention, “Miss Potts is en route to your floor.”

“Great, thanks. Please tell her I’m in the kitchen?” A few moments later, the elevator pinged, and even with my head stuck in the refrigerator I heard my friend’s high heels approach. “Hey, Pep. Heard from Tony?” He had taken his newest Iron Man suit out for a ‘shakedown flight around town’, and ended up phoning her several hours later from somewhere in Indiana. A flash flood there had left a troop of camping Girl Scouts stranded on a hilltop, and naturally, he had volunteered to carry them out. “Hope he gets back in time to drop me at my appointment. If not, I can take the train, but that takes three hours plus, so I’d have to leave here a lot earlier in the morning.” I backed out of the fridge. “I’m repurposing leftovers, if you want to stick around.”

“He swears he’ll be back by midnight, and yes please. Are you nervous about meeting Fury?”

“As a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs.” I chunked up leftover turkey, tossed it in a pan with whatever veggies were handy, and simmered the whole thing with orange juice and spices while I put some rice on to cook. “Oh, and I hate you two. I’ve gotten so comfortable letting Southern-isms out around y’all, it’s gotten harder for me to rein them in around everybody else.”

Pepper laughed while she set the table. “I’m sure your, what do you call it, code-switching, works just fine. Just relax, Chrissy. You probably don’t want to let Fury know you’re that anxious, although from what Tony says, it’s hard to hide anything from that man.”

“Every time he says something, I’ll remind myself to think ‘what would Pepper do?’” I returned as I dished up supper and we dug in. “Worst case scenario, he’ll decide I’m too much woman for him to handle.” Pepper snorted around a mouthful of Moroccan tagine, and I guided the conversation onto her work, finishing the move of SI’s main headquarters from west coast to east. The less I thought about my real plan, the less edgy I would be.

Stew consumed and dishes washed, Pepper and I crashed on my ridiculously large and squishy couch. It reminded me of the nights we had hung out together back when we first met, except without Pep’s constant worry about Tony lost in Afghanistan. We drank and laughed at a ghost hunting show on TV, and I reveled once again in just having friends nearby. Finally, though, Pepper went there. “Are you still planning to ask Fury about Tony?”

“Yes,” I admitted. “Just to find out where SHIELD’s report on him came from. I can’t imagine anybody writing anything as half-assed as some of the shit Tony was quoting.”

Her gaze turned inward for a moment, as though in deep thought. She drained her wine glass and stood to head for the penthouse. “Don’t get stressed,” she whispered as she hugged me. “I hate to call SI a fall-back, but you have a place there anytime. Nick Fury can’t tell me who to hire.”

“Thanks.” She didn’t know that, as exciting as the prospect of working alongside the Avengers was, I figured I’d be with SI in a few days. From all accounts, and my one encounter, Fury liked things his way. He’d never agree to the bargain I planned to present. I wasn’t all that important in his scheme of things, but I had been granted a chance to call him out, and who was I to turn down such a gift?

The next morning, dressed professionally to the nines and figuratively girded for battle, I headed for the rooftop landing deck where Tony was slurping coffee and running pre-flight check. “The Dark Lord talks in circles,” he warned me while lifting off and turning the Quinjet’s nose south. “Circles, ellipses, whatever kind of fucktangular polygon you can imagine.”

“Good thing I’m not starting from ground zero,” I returned from the co-pilot seat beside him. “I can see where meeting him unprepared could be…intimidating.”

“And you weren’t? When you met him in Malibu, I mean.”

“Shit no, I was worried about you and pissed as hell. Would’ve taken more than a rough customer standing on the side of the road in a long-tailed coat to scare me at that point.”

Tony threw back his head in a full laugh. “You should tell him that. Be good for his ego.” Almost before I knew it, we were lowering to approach a massive concrete building on the banks of the Potomac River. “Keep the attitude, cornbread. He’ll be expecting it, and it may give you an edge in talking your way into his secret clubhouse.” I just nodded, thinking, _I hope I can talk somebody’s way into the clubhouse, but it isn’t necessarily going to be me._ “Arriving in style won’t hurt, either,” he added, and proceeded to buzz the Triskelion. I screeched and laughed at the open-mouthed stares of people on the ground; their shock only intensified as Tony brought the jet in for a flawless touchdown on a small landing pad beside the structure. “Break a leg!”

“I’d rather not have to! This place is full of spies, after all.”

Still chuckling, Tony grinned at me. “We’ve got your six, Pepper and me. You know that, right?”

“Yeah,” I nodded. We exchanged a look, and I thought of the promise I had made him, the morning he had revealed himself to the world as Iron Man. _I will never stab you in the back, and as much as it lies in my power to do so, I won’t let anybody else do it either._ I had meant it that day just in the context of the interview we had agreed to on that day, but in the years since then, I had kept the first part time and again. Now, I had an opportunity to fulfill the second. “Likewise.” With a fist bump goodbye, I stepped off the jet, smoothed my skirt, and turned my best toothpaste-ad smile on the agents still gawking, before I strode into the Triskelion in search of Nick Fury.

Given my attention-grabbing entrance, it didn’t take more than a well-mannered request at a receptionist’s desk to win me an eager young escort to the director’s office. Fury stood just outside the open door, dressed exactly as he had been the one time I had seen him, talking quietly with a tall, tough-looking woman in a dark blue uniform. “Miss Everhart,” he greeted me with a jovial smile and a firm handshake. ”Your punctuality is appreciated.” He introduced his companion as Maria Hill, his second in command, and ushered me into the inner sanctum. “I wouldn’t consider myself a foreseer, but I did say we’d meet again.”

“You did,” I agreed and sat down in the chair before his desk. The office was plain, but well-lit, with plenty of windows through which the pleasant late morning sun shone.

Fury settled in the big chair behind the desk, and wasted no more time on pleasantries. “Tony Stark,” he began, “seems to feel the Avengers need you.”

“You definitely need a person to manage public relations,” I replied. “Social media and marketing, too. I’ve done my homework, sir. Immediately after the Battle of New York, there was a lot of positive press coverage on the Avengers—naturally, since the entire world watched live as they fought off an alien invasion. After that, though, the affirmative word count declined precipitously. A steady stream of realistic, informative exposure would cement the public’s view of the Avengers, not as scary or violent, as greater or lesser, but as people, with personalities, and real lives, and unique talents that they choose to use to help others.” I went on to briefly lay out the basics of a plan to monitor and control what was getting out and going viral, including the use of Avengers’ names and likenesses (a formal licensing setup, with earnings going to the charity of the person’s choice, came to mind), as well as setting up social accounts and administering them.

When I finished, Fury sat silent, his single dark eye homed in on me. “Stark tells me he trusted you with the most precious thing in the world to him,” he finally said. Tony hadn’t told me that, but it took me only a moment to know what, or rather who, he meant. “I don’t trust easily. Trust misplaced is what cost me this eye.” He lifted a hand briefly toward the patch he wore. “After the shit he’s seen, I don’t think he does either, which makes that statement all the more remarkable. Makes _you_ all the more remarkable, in my opinion, to have earned his trust. You’ve described a need, and a position to meet that need, and what it entails; but you haven’t said word one about why you think you specifically are the person to fill that position.”

The conversation was inching closer to the place I wanted it to be. “Director Fury, I know you could find somebody else to do the job I’ve outlined, but it won’t be somebody who knows the situation the way I do. It’s not as if Tony’s told me classified intel or anything, but just by virtue of my friendship with him, I’ve been places and seen things nobody else in my line of work has. What I do know is light years more than some fool off the street. I’m damn good at what I do, excuse the language. This job would be good for me, and I’d be good for the Avengers. I think you know that’s true, otherwise Tony wouldn’t have recommended me.” And now, here I was. I thought of the wrath in Pepper’s eyes, and the carefully concealed hurt in Tony’s; and I took a breath and leaped. “I believe I’m the best qualified to do the job, but I’m not altogether sure I can work for you.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chrissy’s dream job is within her grasp, but she plans to use her skills as a bargaining chip to win justice for Tony. 
> 
> (Or, pop some popcorn and watch our girl hand Fury his ass. hehe)

“That so?” Fury’s voice betrayed curiosity.

“Correct. I have concerns about the team’s recent communication problems—I know a lot of messages from one member to you or to their teammates didn’t get through. Hopefully, now that they have a central base, that’ll improve; and a dedicated employee with that under their purview would help even more. That’s not my only issue, though…When I met you in Malibu, you knew Tony was sick. From all indications, you knew exactly why he was sick. Heavy metal poisoning affects mental state, yet I understand that you judged him based on his behavior during that period, wrote a report full of pure bullshit, and then let Tony read it.” _Control, Chrissy, control. Remember ‘what would Pepper do’…oh hell, she’d open a can of whoop-ass, I know exactly what she’d do. Not helping, Pepper-in-my-head!_ “If you, or SHIELD, are that poor a judge of character, quite frankly, I don’t know that I _want_ to work for you.”

I made a mental note to, if I survived this, add today’s date and the entry ‘reducing Nick Fury to wide-eyed silence’ to my CV. In just a second or two, though, he regained his aplomb. “Ah, so that’s the heart of the matter. Did Stark complain to you about—”

“No,” I cut him off. “He would never. He mentioned it as an aside, to explain why he couldn’t make an official job offer to me; because he isn’t part of the Avengers team.”

He made a small hum of comprehension. “Iron Man was recommended; Tony Stark was not. What if I told you it was determined at that time, by those who outrank me, that it might motivate him to believe he’s not part of the team?”

“I’d say those who outrank you need their damn heads examined, or better yet, need to be replaced by somebody that can find their ass with both hands and a flashlight.” I fought to maintain composure, but my anger just built. _How DARE they?_ “Iron Man yes, Tony no? How the fuck would that even make any sense? That’s no different than the military trying to take his suits from him. I’ve seen him fight, how he never backs down, how he puts himself at risk to shield others without a second thought. He hauled a damn nuke through a wormhole for you, and he’s still suffering for it. You could’ve gotten better intel if you’d asked people who know him, like Colonel Rhodes. He told me once that he had never known anyone who had more of a warrior’s heart than Tony Stark, and Rhodey’s been a soldier for a long time. So, what, you thought you’d win him over by making him think he wasn’t good enough? By God, sir, you will not use my friend’s pain against him, and if you try, I promise you will live to regret it. I have used any and every means at my disposal to destroy a villain who tried to hurt him; what makes you think I won’t do the same to you just because you claim to be on the same side?”

In the back of my head, the angel of my better nature let out a sigh. _Your mouth just got you into trouble, again._ I bit my tongue, but refused to break eye contact, even knowing Fury would see my sudden fear. Instead of cold judgement, though, his face held something akin to satisfaction. “I’ll be,” he chuckled and leaned back, steepling his fingers. Instead of throwing me out or threatening me with bodily harm, the man _chuckled_ at me. That should have calmed me, but of course, since sometimes I am actually as dumb as a grubworm, it just further riled me.

“You seem amused by me. You really shouldn’t be. If you pat me on the head, I’ll bite your damn hand off. You’ll draw back a nub.”

That made him laugh out loud. “The madder you get, the more Southern you get. Where you from, baby girl?”

I really needed to be apologizing and assuring him I meant none of it, nor meant him any harm. I breathed a prayer for calm. “Carroll County, Tennessee,” I finally said in a low voice.

“Do tell. Raised in Chattanooga, myself.” Well, that explained a little, but I refused to let him distract me. He didn’t attempt that, though. “You impressed me when I first met you. I had some idea you might be a hellcat, but I confess, I’m a bit surprised, and moved even, by your consistent ferocity in defending your friend.” He sat up straighter and fixed me with that forceful one eye, and I had to wonder who he had wrongly trusted to cost him the other. “I followed Tony’s abduction closely, as well as his rescue, and his actions thereafter. There was concern at that time, I’m almost ashamed to admit, that the Ten Rings had turned him, that he was developing the Iron Man suit for them.” It took a few seconds for that bit of information to sink in, and when it did, I strangled a yelp and nearly choked on the damn thing. “You look—uncertain, Miss Everhart.”

“Having a hard time deciding whether to laugh out loud or scream,” I said with total candor.

“Neither, please. I don’t need security thinking somebody’s getting attacked up in here. Somebody, not you specifically. I’ve heard you can be pretty deadly with random items, and I’d like to keep the one good eye I’ve got left, thank you.”

“I really am never gonna live that down,” I sighed without thinking.

The spymaster let out another dry laugh. “Might be a good thing that you don’t. Own your fierce, Miss Everhart. Anyway, as far as Stark being brainwashed by his captors, I realized with a quickness that nothing could be farther from the truth. You may be interested to hear that your calling him out at his press conference nudged him to do exactly what I secretly hoped he would do: ditch SHIELD’s cover story and come out as Iron Man. I rarely have to admit that I’m wrong, because I rarely am, but that day I saw something under that high-priced haircut I did not expect to see. Rhodes is right; his pal is a warrior, and he’s proven himself time and again of late. I don’t need yes-men to lead the Avengers. I need someone who makes the right call for the situation, no matter what the manual says. Someone who doesn’t care about the odds, who rewrites the rules when he has to, and can do it on the fly, under pressure, with the world watching. That’s what Tony Stark is, and that’s what can make him a hero.”

That was, to put it mildly, unexpected, and I met his bluntness with my own. “Why are you telling me this? You strike me as a person who doesn’t overshare to begin with, and you said yourself you don’t trust easily. In your position, it’s wisest, I’m sure, for you to tell as little as you can get away with, to as few people as you can manage.”

“Very insightful of you,” he nodded. “I don’t think it’s overstating to say that I’ve watched Tony all his life. I knew Howard Stark.” The urge to roll my eyes was almost overwhelming, and from Fury’s entertained expression, I was not completely successful in restraining it. “Ah. If that face is any indication, I suspect what you know of him, other than what is public knowledge, came from Tony. It’s understandable. A child knows a parent in a unique way. In some ways, better than anyone else. In other ways, not at all. Howard might have been clueless about how to express it, but I believe he would be proud of the man his boy has become. He planned to get out of weapons and into energy and tech, long before Tony did it. And,” he added, “I think he would be glad Tony has a friend like you.” _Interesting,_ I thought. _Not sure I believe it, but nice to imagine_. He was right, though, about parents and children, and how their relationship slants their vision; I knew that firsthand. “The rest of the team doesn’t know Tony like you do. It would be good for him, and for me—and for them, even though they don’t know it yet—to have somebody there who has his best interests close to their heart. Miss Potts will be there, of course, and I have no doubt she would walk through fire for him, as would you; but she has Stark Industries to run. In the position that you outlined, you would be dealing with the Avengers on a daily basis, and be a part of much of their planning and many of their actions, since you’d have to be the one explicating them to the public. And, as you yourself said, I have no doubt you would do the best possible job at telling the world what they need to know.”

I wanted to believe that Fury cared about Tony’s well-being, if for no other reason than to support the Avengers, but perhaps for himself. While I couldn’t say I liked the man, this meeting had planted a grudging respect for him. Another conversation came to mind, Pepper telling me about the day Tony had hired her as his PA. He had told her then that he needed someone who would watch his back and never lie to him. As Fury said of himself, I was no foreseer, and I could never have predicted this circumstance; but here and now, I had the chance to deliver in spades and in an ongoing way on the promise I had made, while getting an opportunity beyond my wildest dreams. “Director Fury, I appreciate the confidence you’re willing to place in me, and I can’t deny that the prospect of working with the Avengers thrills me. There’s the matter of the report on Tony, though, that remains to be addressed.”

That won me another chuckle. “Digging in your heels, are you? You’re not easily swayed from a goal once you’ve set it. I like that in a person.”

“You may not when I finish,” I warned him, and then laid out the deal I had planned for days. “I accept on one condition. If you can’t see your way clear to meeting it, I can only agree to being a—consultant—for SHIELD. I’ll come to work for you, _if_ you take back the negative recommendation in Tony’s file. It’s untrue and unfair; you said so yourself, just now.”

The tussle I expected didn’t come. “Already done,” Fury said instead, in an airy tone. “The original report has to remain in the file, because of agency regs, but a corrective amendment was written immediately after New York. Wrote it myself, in fact, once I got through smoothing the collective ruffled feathers of every other Avenger. Which, I should point out, was also your fault.”

“How do you figure?” I challenged.

"Apparently you told them that ‘they’ didn’t want Tony. Well, _they_ were all appalled. They thought his 'consultant' status was by his choice.” He let go a small smirk, as if acknowledging my choice of words in my proposal. “Agent Romanoff was the only one who knew he had literally been evaluated and rejected. They all came at me after that. Rogers was first, and believe me, you do not want the Captain America face of disapproval turned on you.” Fury gave a little mock-shudder of horror. “Then Thor and Banner tag-teamed me, with Barton backing them up. And Romanoff, well, she’s the scariest one of the bunch. One of these days I’ll say the wrong thing and she’ll end up using my finger bones for manicure tools. She never intended for Stark to see her report.”

“She wrote it?” I burst out. “Why? Natasha knew Tony for a good while. She asked me about him, for crying out loud. She knew that wasn’t who he was!”

“You’d have to ask her what her reasoning was.” Fury’s steady gaze did not waver. “And your best chance to do that, of course, is if you accept my offer.”

“You’re a manipulative son of a gun, you know that?”

“I do, and I appreciate the compliment.” 

He had me over a barrel, but I couldn’t lie and say I didn’t want to take the plunge. “Correcting the report is only half the resolution. From what he’s let slip, Tony doesn’t know it’s corrected. I’ll accept your offer, if you agree to tell him the report was wrong. Tell him what you just told me. Tell him you think he’s a hero, and why. Tell him he’s—he’s good enough, and he is an Avenger, and I’ll take the job.”

Fury snorted. “You can’t tell me Tony Stark ever thought he wasn’t good enough for anything.”

“You don’t know him as well as you think you do, then,” I said, very quietly.

He tilted his head, his eye searching my face. “That’s a damn shame, then,” he said after a long few seconds, “and one that needs to be rectified. I won’t put on a dog and pony show, but I’ll let him know his personnel file has been reviewed upon my receipt of updated information, and his status has been amended.”

“Dog and pony show would not be welcome, I daresay,” I replied. “You’re doing the right thing, sir. Thank you.”

“Don’t paint me as a saint. I’m a pragmatist. I’m doing what benefits the most people, including myself.” He stood and came around the desk with his hand out, signaling our meeting was at an end. “Pleasure to have you join us, Miss Everhart.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I literally didn’t realize until I wrote Fury's line about Pepper and Chrissy 'walking through fire' for Tony, that maybe he does know about Extremis…SHIELD knows Killian was working on it, remember. Not sure if that will ever play a role or if Chrissy and we will find out for sure sometime, though.
> 
> Fury's comments about his reaction to Tony's abduction, rescue, and coming out as Iron Man come in large part straight from the comic Security Measures, a canon tie-in which tells IM1 from his & Coulson's POV. That includes the fact that SHIELD did initially suspect Tony had been broken, they did know about the suit before anybody else did, and yes, Fury sent Coulson in with that crappy bodyguard cover story halfway hoping Tony would do exactly what he did, and prove Fury wrong! lol


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chrissy starts her new job and begins getting acquainted with her new co-workers (aka, the freakin' Avengers).

The rest of Fury’s welcoming talk, about onboarding packets and training inservices as a civilian employee of SHIELD and such, was half a blur. By the time I finally got my brain fully functioning again, I was standing outside the doors of the Triskelion. 

My phone was muted and buried in my purse. I sat on a bench, dug it out and checked my messages. There was one text from Pepper. ::good luck C. lmk how things go.::

Underneath that was a string of texts from Tony.

::hey::

::hey cornbread how’s it going::

:: hate you went at Long John Silver without a weapon, I could’ve brought you a corn dog stick::

::you can do this. don’t let him scare you. I think he gets off on that shit::

:: (video clip of Dum-E waving pompom)::

::well?::

::c’mon c’mon::

::you’re killin me Smalls!::

::do I need to come rescue you? Or rescue Fury?::

::if you don’t answer soon I’m breaking out my cheerleader skirt::

::Pep’ll be emotionally scarred for life & it’ll all be your fault::

::COOOOOME OOOOONNNNN::

I sent two quick replies. To Pepper, I wrote, ::I survived! Went well, think I may have the gig. Details when I get back, going to grab lunch, in the mood to bum around a museum a while, then taking train home::

To Tony, I just typed, ::cheerleader skirt? POIDH. lolol::

It was not shocking to discover no cab or ride service would pick me up at SHIELD’s hq, since in theory, nobody was supposed to know it existed. There was a work-around, though, kindly provided to me by an agent who saw me looking confused. A request sent under the name of an obscure division of the Department of Homeland Security got me an Uber downtown in no time. (I should have remembered that, since the first time Pepper mentioned SHIELD and their relation to the Avengers, it was under that very guise.)

After a short stroll along the National Mall, I found a tiny shop with excellent Korean noodles, then moseyed around the Air and Space Museum. Without really intending to, I wound up at the Captain America exhibit, and looked over the uniforms and effects. _Did anybody contact him after he was found, and offer to give those back?_ I wondered. _Or at least get his formal permission to display them?_

The museum had gotten everything legitimately, of course, from the persons who owned them after Steve Rogers’ disappearance. In fact, I was startled to see several items credited to the Howard Stark private collection. _Note to self, ask Tony about that!_

I resolved one of my first official actions as the Avengers’ PR coordinator would be to follow up on Steve’s possessions. Even if the guy got on my last nerve, he still deserved to be treated fairly. To be honest, when I looked at the photos of the old men who had once been Captain America’s Howling Commandoes, attending the opening of this very exhibit, I determined to question the whole process of bringing Rogers into the twenty-first century. How had he been oriented; had he been offered professional help to adapt? It had to be rough, being flung into a world made new, and learning all your friends had gone before you. 

The Commandoes were each pictured and named, with a brief summary of their skills and exploits, ending with their date and place of death. All had lived full lives after the war, except one. I’d never been the fan of Captain America and his squad that some of my friends had, but that one had always touched my heart, the tragic one, the one who never made it home: Steve Rogers’ right hand man, James Buchanan ‘Bucky’ Barnes. He had never even been declared officially dead, just missing in action, and that had to be sadder still for his loved ones, the never knowing. 

The train ride back to New York turned out to be a blessing. The museum visit had kick-started my brain, and it was buzzing with things I would need to do to set up and start on my new job. First up, obviously, would be to meet the entire team and get to know them. I might even cook, as a gesture of goodwill. I worked on my plan the whole ride, reminding myself I couldn’t start on anything until I got confirmation I was hired. Knowing government work, who knew how long that would be, but I wanted to be ready to roll when it was.

As it turned out, the wait wasn’t long at all. To be exact, the confirmation beat me back to the tower. As I was getting off the train at Grand Central Station, my phone pinged with a text from Tony. ::damn girl, you work fast. Fury just called. Said he still has his eye but not by much, & told me he’d disembowel me if I scare you off::

::does that mean I’m hired?:: I repressed the urge to dance across the expanse of marble floor.

::all but the paperwork to be sure you’re not a spy. Or a spy that’s not theirs, anyway. He wants me to wrangle the team asap & introduce you. And behave myself::

:: HA 😊 That all he said?::

I didn’t really expect a response; if Fury had mentioned Tony’s file to him, Tony wouldn’t tell me, which was fine. A couple of minutes later, my butt in the back of a taxi headed for the tower, Tony replied, ::just paperwork. Some file updates, boring shit like that::

Hopefully that meant Fury had not delayed in keeping his word to make plain Tony’s status as an Avenger. With deliberate wording, I returned, ::cool. You wrangle your team, I’ll make chili and fry Mexican corncakes::

This time, Tony did not argue that it wasn’t his team. I took that as a good sign.

It was almost sad, though, the uncertain looks directed all around when Rogers, Romanov and the blond archer piled off the elevator onto the common floor a few evenings later. The instant before they all spotted me, I sucked in a deep breath and reminded myself to be professional and friendly, and not to say anything too Southern. Then I smiled, waved them in and pointed them toward bowls, utensils and the huge pot of chili. “Captain Rogers, good to see you. Hello, Natasha; remind me to catch you for a minute later on, I have a question for you. And you, sir, I don’t believe we were ever formally introduced, although I know you’re the madman with the bow and arrows.”

A slow smile spread across his face, and his blue eyes lit with a mischievous gleam. “That’s me. Clint Barton, aka Hawkeye.” 

Finally, a name to go with the buff arms and flawless butt. I kept up a stream of light conversation while they helped themselves. Tony and Bruce ambled in and did the same, the only brief hitch coming when Natasha tried to hand Tony a spoon and he reminded her he didn’t like to be handed things. A boom from the roof apparently announced the arrival of Thor, who strode into the kitchen and bodily picked me up in a crushing embrace when I explained the meal. “Milady bard! What a privilege to break bread with you!”

My plan, initially, had been to feed everybody and then get down to business. Instead, somehow, while the Asgardian literally ate the rest of the pot of chili out of a mixing bowl, and Clint and Bruce compared opinions on pozole (Clint waxed profanely poetic about some that he and Natasha had gotten on an assignment, from an old woman in Chihuahua), I found myself explaining around the big dining table what I’d been hired to do for the Avengers and what I needed from them. Thor acted like a big puzzled puppy, complete with head tilt. “Am I to understand that you shall sing our renown among the common folk?”

“I don’t sing very well,” I replied, “but essentially, yes.”

Tony made an exasperated little noise, accompanied by crumbs of corncake flying out of his mouth. “She’s a wordsmith, Point Break.”

“Stark,” Steve began, with a disapproving frown that I guessed was the look Fury dreaded, “do you really have to run people down just because they aren’t as smart as you th—”

“Ah!!” Thor roared with laughter and slapped his big hands on the table. Natasha, who had been eating quietly and neatly beside him, just watching and listening, grabbed her bowl before it went flying. “Now you speak my language. All is clear to me now! My thanks, friend Anthony.”

Steve closed his mouth with an almost audible snap, and I decided to let my evil side out to play. “Captain Rogers, when you have a second, I’d love to take a selfie of us to send to my friend. You’re his hall pass.”

Clint snorted out loud and Natasha’s face tightened in a way that said _I will not laugh_. Tony choked and started coughing; more crumbs flew, and Bruce patted him on the back. Steve looked clueless. I just widened my eyes artlessly. Thor crowed, “Friend Anthony has explained this concept to me as well. In Asgard, relationships are more—open—and one need not obtain permission from their partner before assaying affairs with others who may catch their eye; such consent is understood, but it is not so here. So, Lady Christine, your friend’s mate has agreed to his embarking upon a dalliance with our captain?”

Said captain’s ears and cheeks turned bright red. Tony’s airway cleared enough for him to get out a howl of mirth. I locked eyes with Rogers and smiled a big guileless smile. “It’s really just an inside joke. Will’s idolized you for years, and I promised him I would ask for a picture. If you don’t want to, it’s perfectly fine. My job is going to include shielding all of you from—unreasonable demands and expectations, after all, so no time like the present to start, right?”

“Um,” Steve said. 

“Eloquent,” Tony rasped.

“Back off, hot rod.” Without looking away from Steve, I reached to one side and flicked Tony’s ear, ignoring his yelp and grumble. Natasha finally relented and let out a small giggle. “Seriously, it’s okay, Steve—oh, and that reminds me, I need to find out how you all prefer for me to address you. First name, last name, titles, whatever, it’s all good.”

“Steve is fine, please.”

Voices started to chime in around the table. Most everybody seemed fine with first names. Bruce seemed shocked when I asked if the Hulk had a preference of name. Clint opined I could call him Big Daddy, and nearly swallowed his spoon when I innocently asked if he could live up to the name. 

Tony, being a little shit, started to reel off a string of made-up titles. I stuck my tongue out at him, and he returned the favor. “What, are you twelve?” Steve sniped at him. _What the fuck?_ I thought. 

Tony’s eyes cut his way and narrowed, and even with his tongue still blepped out at me, I could see return verbal fire coming from a city block away, so I jumped in between. “Hey, I started it! Everybody needs to act silly sometimes, and if you can’t act silly at home where can you?” I softened the words with a grin, and topped it off by sticking my tongue out at Steve. He looked lost, and I suddenly wondered if his apparent uptightness was just a symptom of the bigger issue I had pondered earlier in the day.

The conversation devolved into a discussion of aliases and oversharing and identity porn, which, as we moved into the sitting area and the group mowed through some five dozen cupcakes Tony had ordered from the bakery around the corner, transitioned perfectly into the rest of my, pre-planned, now shot to hell, presentation. “Another thing, before I schedule a press briefing, I want to spend some time with each of you one on one, so I can get to know you and you can get comfortable with me, since I’ll be representing you in the public sphere. I need to know how much you’re comfortable with sharing with the world, and just—get acquainted. Not just sitting talking, but the stuff you do every day. I want to be able to show people that y’a—you are all people too.” _Whew, caught that ‘y’all’ before it escaped_. “Like, Clint, I’d love to hang with you on the archery range. You’re amazing.”

“Yeah, I have good aim,” he drawled and wiggled his eyebrows.

“I’ve seen it with the bow,” I returned. “How’s it translate to…other implements?”

Behind me, Tony made a choking sound again. I glanced over my shoulder. “Still having trouble with that corncake?” I inquired. His eyes were huge with frank disbelief. I wanted to snicker, but restrained myself. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the Avengers' first team dinner, Chrissy and Natasha talk, and Clint tackles Tony.

When Bruce started to doze off on the couch, leaning heavily against Tony’s shoulder, he roused himself enough to wish the other Avengers good night and shuffle off to his floor. “Looks like the party’s breaking up!” Tony declared and hopped to his feet too. “Any Avenger body who doesn’t have a cardboard box nearby to burrow into, and doesn’t want to go try to find an overpriced hotel room without bedbugs, allow me to remind you that all of you have designated quarters right here, with a lovely view of lots of people and taxicabs, and a décor designed by one of the best eyes in business.”

“Gotta admit, I’m a little scared to imagine what living space designed by you may look like,” Clint said as he got up from his chair. 

The crack was accompanied by a grin, though, which only widened when Tony shot back, “I didn’t say I designed it, bird-boy.”

“Anthony, Captain Rogers has explained to me that you and your lady Virginia prepared lodgings for us here,” Thor’s rumbly voice had a solemn tone. “In Asgard, to open one’s home to one’s shield-brothers and sisters is one of the highest expressions of honor. My poor skills are inadequate to the task of conveying my thanks.”

Naturally, Tony squirmed. “Likewise,” Steve said and stood. “Sorry your message didn’t get to us sooner. It’s good of you to do this.”

Tony waved them off. “Come on then, let’s get the tour out of the way before you all fall asleep on your super-feet.” He pointed to me. “Cornbread. I need to talk to you.”

“And I need to talk to Natasha,” I replied. “We’ll only be a few minutes. Get them settled and then, why don’t you go see if Pepper’s back from work? Tell her I saved her some chili if she wants it.” I aimed a mock kick at his backside. “Shoo, now, let the women-folk talk.”

While Tony ushered his charges onto the elevator, I disposed of the empty cupcake boxes. When I turned, Natasha had silently followed me into the kitchen. “Don’t be too obvious in favoring Tony,” she said. “It’s pretty clear he got you this job. Bruce and Thor don’t care. I don’t care as long as you do the work. Your efforts may charm Clint, but Steve’s not thrilled.”

I frowned. “Tony didn’t get me the job. Director Fury asked his opinion of me before approaching me, but that’s all. And I’m not trying to charm Clint. Well, maybe, kind of—he is cute—unless he’s yours, then—come help me get the dishes, would you?” While we loaded the dishwasher, I finished, “I had this same conversation, or this part of it anyhow, with Pepper, the day she and I first met. I do not poach on other women’s turf.”

Natasha tossed her flaming hair out of her face and eyed me. “My work doesn’t allow much room for sentiment,” she said. “There is a lot of blood in my past, that I wanted to make up for, as much as that is possible. Clint offered me that chance, when he didn’t have to. I owe him.”

I smiled and started the dishwasher. “Isn’t it a pill, when you have a male friend and people just assume you’re doing him?” We left the noisy machine to its work and sat back down on the couch in the common area. “To clear up your understandable misperceptions, I don’t plan to favor Tony. Yes, he is my friend, I’ve known him longest, and yes, I promised him years ago that I would always, always have his back. But I’m getting to be Bruce’s friend too, and I want to be a friend to the rest of you; and I would hope you can be friends, or at the very least, be friendly to each other, and watch out for each other. It’s going to be pretty damn hard for me to represent the Avengers truthfully to the world as a team if you’re only a team when you’re fighting an outside enemy.”

Natasha sat quietly, one leg tucked under her, and regarded me as though absorbing what I had said and judging its veracity. “Your question,” she said at last. “It’s about the report I wrote on Tony.”

I wasn’t altogether surprised she had figured that out. “Why, Natasha? You knew he was sick, you knew he was dying. How could you say those things about him? A ‘textbook narcissist’ never takes responsibility for anything, even if they did it. Tony accepts blame, hell, blames himself, for things there’s no way he was responsible for. Why?”

She blinked slowly, the only sign she might have noticed my emotions bleeding through my efforts at calm. “As hard as he was trying to keep his illness a secret,” she said, “I thought he would probably not want all of that in print. Better to write something in line with the public perception of him, if others were going to see it, than the truth he obviously wanted to guard. Too, if I had recommended him, SHIELD would have sucked him in as a conscript, in essence, and I knew he would function better as a free agent. The only way I could see to accomplish that was to construct a situation where SHIELD would think they didn’t want him.”

“Maybe so,” I returned, “but, whatever you intended, all he knows is he saw what you wrote, and he believes it, and your bosses have been holding it over his head. That’s not right. How do you expect Tony to be a part of your team after you told him he wasn’t good enough to be?”

”If Stark doesn’t think he is part of the team, why did he—" 

“Invite you all to come live in his house, basically, like Thor said? Design a whole floor for each of you, and bust his butt to make it exactly what he thought you might want and need and enjoy? Maybe because he feels like he was expected to. Or because he’d do whatever he thought he had to do to be accepted, to be wanted, or at least tolerated.” That got an actual reaction. Natasha, understandably given her line of work, was opaque, even harder to read than Pepper; but reading Pep had given me lots of practice. A slight widening of the spy’s eyes conveyed as much surprise as a gasp or exclamation from somebody else would have. “Or maybe, maybe, it’s just because he gives, and he cares, even though nobody ever seems to see that.”

Natasha gave a thoughtful hum. “I asked him to look at my lucky grenades, last week. He agreed without an instant’s hesitation, and didn’t ask anything of me. I’m…more accustomed to a tit for tat in dealings with other agents, except for Clint, and Phil…” Her voice trailed off, and her eyes flicked away for a moment. “The last time I was in his shop, he was already working on gear for the others. He’s making all kinds of new arrows for Clint, and trousers for Bruce that will stretch for the Hulk instead of ripping away. He’s even designing a phone for Steve, something as high-tech as all Stark tech is, but with flip phone features: simple to use, secure, long battery life, durable. None of them have spoken of his approaching them with demands in return, either.”

“I don’t think Tony would know how to do that,” I answered. “He expects to be asked to give, but he doesn’t expect to get. It took me a good while to teach him to let me be his friend. He had to learn that all I asked was his friendship in return, and it was really hard for him to understand that I wanted to let me give to him without him feeling obliged to reciprocate. He really didn’t know how, because he’d so rarely gotten that. Tony’s very good with the masks he hides behind. Better than you, even, maybe; because yours is your work, but his is his life.” Feeing more composed, I gave her a smile. “When you talked about making up for your past, it occurred to me, you and Tony are probably more alike than either of you recognizes.” She laughed, barely, a soft small huff of air. I thought that, if she could let herself, Natasha and I could be friends. 

“You’re right,” she said after a few moments of companionable silence. “Tony presents as invulnerable, and it’s easy to forget he’s not.” I reflected that she meant I was right on more levels than one. She nodded with a resolute air then, as though coming to a decision. “Is that all you wanted of me?” 

“For now, yeah. We do need to get together and work out what you’re okay with having put out there for public consumption, whether you want your own social media accounts and whether you want to run them on your own—”

“Bold of you to assume I don’t already have some.”

I stopped, and then started to laugh. “This is true,” I conceded. “You can show me those, or not, whatever you want. At least I know you won’t give up anything confidential on them.”

“Not a chance of that,” she assured me. “I’m not sure I’d trust Clint online, though.”

The elevator dinged, and Tony stepped out. “That was quick,” I said to him. “What, did you just slow the elevator car and throw each guy out on their floor?”

“More or less.” He started to say something else, but it was drowned out by a rattle in the ceiling that sounded quite deliberate, and was moving closer to where we stood. Tony tensed and I stepped back, but Natasha just eyed the tiles above our heads with a long-suffering air. A moment later, one was jerked aside and a breathless Clint Barton dropped to the floor.

“God DAMN it, Stark!!” The words were ones of anger, but his face was alight with a shit-eating grin. He slapped Tony on the arm and then whirled to face me. “When you said you wanted to watch me on the archery range, baby, you didn’t say it was because your buddy put the fuckin’ range on my fuckin’ floor!!”

“Uh, that was because I didn’t know it,” I replied, delighted. 

As thrilled as a kid at Christmas, Clint dragged us all onto the elevator and up to see what was apparently his new favorite thing in the world. He fired off several quivers’ worth of arrows, and did a dorky little dance when I praised his amazing eye. When Tony began to explain some of the gadgets he was building into a new batch, Clint all but picked him up and hugged him. “Goddamn. You’re awesome, Stark. Still an asshole, but an awesome one.”

Tony stiffened up, but he managed not to freak too much. I was secretly proud of him. “Okay, okay, Legolas, I appreciate your appreciation, but I have places to go and Potts to feed. C’mon, Itsy Bitsy, go get your beauty-assassin sleep.” 

“I’m not that much smaller than you,” Natasha pointed out as the three of us boarded the elevator.

“No, the song,” he explained. “The itsy bitsy spider song?” She looked at him with the best blank expression I had ever seen. “Russian children don’t do the itsy bitsy spider song?”

“I was never a child. And no, Stark, do not sing it to me.”

“Oh, bad call,” I mock-groaned to her, as Tony, of course, did that very thing he had just been asked not to do. “Come hang with Pepper and me one of these nights,” I added over Tony’s wails. “We’ll educate you, and plot against him.”

“ _Et tu_ , Christine?” he jibed.

“Only when it’s called for. Night, Natasha!” I called when she got off, then slouched against the wall. “Whew. I think the evening went well. Baby steps!” I grinned wickedly at Tony. “Lots of male eye candy, too. That didn’t hurt, other than negatively impacting my concentration. I’ll have to work—"

“That!!” Tony yelped, just as the elevator door opened on my floor. A bit taken aback, I hastened out, but he followed in hot pursuit. “I thought I raised you better than that. The last shitty guy you hooked up with was me, as far as I know anyway. You moved up to the best guy on the planet, and now you’re making googly eyes at Barton?” I gaped, and then collapsed on my sofa shaking with laughter. “Your taste in men has deteriorated like an old crack house. You aren’t a reporter anymore, and you can’t set anything on fire, so why can’t you and Rhodey just get back together?”

“Aw,” I said when I regained my breath. “You’re trying to take care of your honey bear. Don’t worry, Tony, really. Rhodey and I have talked, a lot, and we’ve decided we work better as friends than lovers, at least for the time being. I promise I won’t embarrass you in front of your teammates, though.”

Again, he did not argue with my characterization, and again, I was heartened by it. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chrissy settles into the tower! She starts training with Clint and Natasha, makes good on her intention to help Steve, and helps Pepper organize a charity soiree featuring the Avengers.

In the days that followed, my new life began to take a recognizable shape, as I swiftly completed the requisite inservices and documentation to start work. I made one more run back to California, to gather the possessions I wanted to keep, sell my old car, and disperse the stuff I didn’t need (mostly to Juanita, my building manager, who promised to find homes for them with people who needed them). A couple of shopping jaunts with Pepper scored me some outsider art for my walls and a hand-woven rug for my bedside, and the sixty-fourth floor of Avengers Tower began to feel like home in a way my old apartment never had.

Change of address notifications were duly sent to the nursing home that cared for my mom, and the relatives in Tennessee, with cautions that I couldn’t entertain a passel of visiting cousins anytime soon. Besides, I reminded them, throngs of tourists would be unwelcome and unsafe in the Avengers’ home base during the next alien invasion. That should scare them into staying away for long enough for me to get settled.

The team that had given the tower its name began to move closer as well. Steve and Natasha both visited often. I carved out time to spend on the phone with the Smithsonian, then called Steve, hopped the train to DC, and accompanied him to the Air and Space Museum. He was flabbergasted when several excited staffers escorted him to the office of the associate curator, who presented him with a modest proposal. “We’d rather you didn’t take most of our exhibit,” she cautioned, ‘but Miss Everhart pointed out that, since you’re clearly no longer a deceased historical figure, we should treat you with the same courtesy we extend to other living persons we feature here.” 

With that, the curator led us to the (roped-off, and observed by a multitude of thrilled museum-goers) Cap exhibit and made her offer: the return of Steve’s personal possessions on display, unless he wanted to leave some, in exchange for a couple of items from the battle of New York, for the newest case titled ‘Captain America Returns’. It wasn’t exactly going to empty the displays, since much of Steve’s military gear was technically government property already.

Steve persuaded his jaw to close, and thanked me profusely, before he collected several of his things: a compass, a notebook, a set of drafting pencils. I didn’t know he drew, and made him promise to show me some of his work. It sounded like something the public would love to know and see, too, one day. The museum staff took photos of Steve holding the items, with big grins all around; the pictures would replace them in their cases, with signs noting the actual objects had been returned to their rightful owner. 

I stepped aside to avoid accidentally photobombing them, and drifted to the case dedicated to the other Howlies, as Steve called them. A couple of new photos had been posted, including a rare color one of the whole unit taken by a British photographer using experimental film. It felt like a peek into another universe, being able to see the vivid red and blue of the original Captain America suit, the way Steve saw it; Dum Dum Dugan’s ginger hair and mustache; and—

Huh. Bucky Barnes’ eyes were the most intense blue-grey, like a storm on a distant horizon. I couldn’t remember ever having seen a color picture of him before. In my Bucky-fangirl youth, I might have dreamed about those eyes, that night. I can neither confirm nor deny what adult me actually dreamed about. Dreams, I decided, were a rest for my brain, a break for the synapses spinning in circles getting my new world in order and getting to know the team.

Clint, I learned, already had a place in New York; amazingly enough, he owned a small apartment building in town, and some property in the Midwest. Clearly he was smarter than he sometimes liked to pretend to be. He also had some unfathomable ability to know when I was cooking at the tower for everybody on the premises, and got cussed at the third or fourth time he fell out of the kitchen ceiling vent trying to sneak up on me.

“Cussing me wouldn’t do you any good if I was a ninja,” he scolded while he sat on the counter and held a bag of frozen blackeye peas to the bump on his head. “Nat and I train in the space Stark put on her floor. Come up there in the morning and we’ll start teaching you to protect yourself.”

“If you were a ninja, I would’ve given you this cast iron skillet up the side of your head just now,” I retorted. “That said, I’d love to. I took a self-defense course, but that’s nothing to what I could learn from you two. It’s not like you’ll be around to be my regular bodyguard,” I added with a playful bump of my hip against his knee.

After breakfast the next morning I followed Clint and Natasha up to her floor. Now that Avengers were moving in, at least part-time, I was finally seeing the realizations of the blueprints Pepper had shown me, and they were amazing. The walls of Natasha’s training area were thick with ledges and climbing holds, and tumbling mats covered half the floor. “Be warned,” I told them. “I am not graceful. I was a clumsy kid and it hasn’t gotten better with age.” I explained what I had learned in class was mostly how to size up an everyday location and seize on whatever was handy.

“Don’t let her fool you,” Natasha told Clint. “Remember how I told you I watched her take down a man twice her size with a skewer from a corn dog?”

I started to roll my eyes again. Suddenly I thought of Nick Fury’s words, and I held my head up instead and said, “Yep. I did. And your boss said I should own my fierce, so, I’m gonna.”

Clint laughed, and we got to it. He was one dangerous guy, able to mess people up with knife, gun, and even a staff, besides his trusty bow. I suspected he could do more damage with a chopstick than most people could with a fully loaded firearm. He kept up a stream of chat almost as constant as Tony, telling tales about growing up a deaf circus kid. (I had no idea until he stopped while doing a roll move on a mat and pulled a hearing aid out of one ear. He was a fluent signer, I found. Shamefaced, I admitted all I can do in that area, thanks to a grade-school classmate, is fingerspell and swear.) Scarier yet, the man could do as much with one hand as the other, and suggested I make a conscious effort to do everyday things with my dumb left hand. I made myself focus, and almost ignored the warmth of his arms around me, his hands over mine, walking me through offensive and defensive maneuvers. 

Natasha didn’t offer anything at first; she just watched me until Clint finally took pity and called a break. Then, she began to talk, and I understood why. She had been sizing me up, and cataloguing my capabilities and limitations, and started showing me some amazing tricks, including how to break up a wooden chair and kill people with the pieces…even if you were tied to the chair to begin with. I made her promise to teach Pepper too.

By the end of the day, I was sore, had a standing appointment to train with them, and had gotten better acquainted with them than I would have after hours of interviews. This was the way I wanted—needed—to know the Avengers. Feeling more confident, I scheduled my first press conference, to introduce myself to my former journalistic comrades and get off on the right foot.

I had a suspicion I would get more questions about two team members than the rest. Iron Man was easy; I could yak about Tony half the day. Captain America was going to be more of a challenge, one I had to resolve before moving forward. Our visit to the Smithsonian had warmed the chill I felt toward him a bit, though. Mentally girding myself, I texted him to schedule a time to meet, not thinking until after I hit Send that I wasn't sure he knew how to read and reply to texts. 

He did, apparently. ::I’m coming up to NY tomorrow. Will be happy to meet you at the tower.::

When I met Steve in the tower lobby the following day, he accepted my peace offering of coffee with apparent pleasure, and we headed up to his floor. “I want to apologize for the request for the selfie for my friend,” I told him. “Not for the request, but for dropping it on you the way I did. We’re so accustomed to our world being the way it is, just because, you know, it is; but it’s not your world. Like, having friends who are gay and don’t have to hide isn’t something I thought about as startling you, but obviously it did. You’re sick of things being demanded of you, I’m sure, and especially without adequate preparation.”

“I don’t think I’ve been adequately prepared for anything since I woke up,” he said ruefully and slurped at his coffee. I’d ordered it black, not knowing how he took it, but he seemed fine with it. “I have to admit, I didn’t know how to type back to your text message, but my neighbor showed me.”

“That sucks,” I said sincerely. “I can help you with that, if you want.”

“Thanks, I’d appreciate it. And, what you were saying: I knew fellas, and gals too, in my old neighborhood and in the Army, who were, what do people call them now, LGBT. It’s not like they didn’t exist, and I sure never thought any less of them for who they loved. You can’t judge a whole crowd on one quality. Some are swell, some are rotten, most are somewhere in between.”

“Well said,” I agreed. “If you have some time, I’d be happy to help you start getting up to speed on more things than just texting. Twenty-first Century 101, as it were.” Of course, I had to explain that reference before I could move on, but Steve seemed thrilled with the offer. We ended up spending the entire day together. I took him down to the little sandwich shop I loved on the ground floor and talked his ear off. He listened, asked insightful and sometimes pointed questions, and when we finally took that selfie for Will, it was Steve who set it up and snapped it. As I told Pepper that night while we hung out in the penthouse with some wine, I got a sense there were depths to the man we hadn’t yet seen.

“I think so too,” she told me. “I haven't seen him around the others much, but he’s very polite whenever he sees me. It’s all ma’am this and ma’am that. He seems a little, I don’t know, baffled by me?”

“Probably just awed by your Tony-management skills,” I teased her. “You’re getting acquainted with the rest of the team, though, right?”

She was. Thor treated her like royalty; Natasha was cautious but beginning to warm to her. “And Clint’s great, so down to earth. Although Tony thinks you like him entirely too much.”

“Since when is Tony the boss of my love life?” I mock-scowled, and Pepper rolled her eyes in amusement.

“Speaking of Steve,” she went on, “I’m putting together our yearly Stark Industries fundraiser for Women in Need, and I was thinking of inviting him and the rest of the Avengers. We’re leaning toward a 1940s, old school glam theme. What do you think?”

“Sounds like a plan. It’d be not just a good thing in itself, but a good chance for people to get to see the team as more than glorified law enforcement.” A thought occurred to me, and I casually added, “Has there been a change in Tony’s status with them lately? I’ve noticed when I refer to the Avengers and include him, he doesn’t argue with me anymore. Unless he’s just tired of my shit.”

“Yes. Fury called and actually _apologized_ \--” she widened her eyes in feigned horror, “for the fucked-up communications all around. Said it had been brought to his attention that among the messages that had been waylaid was one informing Tony that his SHIELD personnel file contained errors, it had been updated, and his status had been changed from consultant to full Avenger.” She twiddled her pottery wine cup. “Not that I’m thrilled by that thought, but…you know Tony hides things well, but if you could have seen his face when he heard that, _he_ was thrilled.” I nodded in comprehension. “That’s ‘changed’ status, not added status. Fury apparently threatened him with dire harm if he tried to do full-time Avenging and consulting too.”

“He knows Tony would burn himself out without that kind of boundary-setting, I guess. Good for him, and good for whoever brought the error to his attention.”

“Yes, good for them,” Pepper echoed. “No idea who might have done something like that.”

“Nope,” I agreed. “Absolutely no clue.” We exchanged conspiratorial grins.

“Fury called me back later,” she added, “on my personal line. He said the message supposedly sent by Tony telling SHIELD to butt out of the Mandarin affair had been mysteriously deleted, and no transcription could be located.”

“Doesn’t surprise me. Do you think it ever existed?”

“I asked him that. After he finished laughing—”

“Because you had the grapefruits to ask him flat-out."

“—he said yes, it existed. At least, he was handed a note to that effect. But he admitted he never heard a recording, so he couldn’t be certain it was Tony.”

I sighed. “Well, Tony promised me he will never invite a villain over to his house again, so hopefully we’re good on that going forward. Now, about this fundraiser shindig?” 

Pepper is nothing if not thorough, so when I left the penthouse, I had pages of copious notes on the ‘soiree’ and the charity it benefited, to share with the public. The next day she called me with a list of Avenger RSVPs. “I promised Bruce he didn’t have to stay the whole evening. Thor is flying his girlfriend in. Literally. He asked the day and time, and then wandered off mumbling about when he’d have to jump off the tower to get to New Mexico and back. Steve sounds excited. Natasha said she would blackmail Clint into going, but…you know, Chrissy, it might be better if you ask him.”

“Me?” I squeaked.

“You. Tony may have decided he’s your mother, but I’m not. Go for it, girlfriend.”

After our workout the following morning, I broached the subject of the fundraiser. Clint looked askance at me. “I’m a carnie kid from Iowa! I don’t do high society bashes.”

“You’re a spy, Clint. Don’t tell me you haven’t had to dress up and escort Natasha someplace pretentious, to steal something or kill somebody. I’m sure you’ve had more experience faking swank than I have! I’m just, um, just a farm girl from Tennessee. If anything, I should be asking you to support me.”

Clint’s mouth opened, then closed. “Urm…you’re tough, Christine. You’ll be fine. I’m kind of not safe to have at parties, anyway. Things happen. One time in Kiev, I fell into a pot of chocolate fondue and ended up with second-degree burns. Then there was that time in Tatabanya when me and Nat…Anyway. Yeah, no. Tell Miss Potts thanks, but I better pass.”

Whatever. I sighed mentally, and refused to take it personally. 

When I stepped in front of the cameras for my first official presser as Avengers PR rep, I put on a solid smile, answered the questions I could with a hint of wit, and promised to find answers to the questions I couldn’t. A part of me felt so strange facing reporters instead of being part of the pack, and I admitted as much, which seemed to boost my credibility in their eyes. The barely concealed excitement that rippled through the room at my announcement that most of the Avengers would be in attendance at the WIN fundraiser was delicious, and I relished the idea that this was hopefully just the first time I could enjoy it. I determined I would doll up, go to this to-do, and party my ass off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The charity the soiree is set to benefit really exists, and you can read more about it here. Women In Need is a NYC-based organization that helps homeless families. https://winnyc.org/ 
> 
> You can probably guess who the neighbor was who helped Steve reply to Chrissy's text. Yep, it was Sharon!
> 
> ETA, thanks to barbara6275 who asked about where the Captain America exhibit is. I agree with her that it probably should be in the general history section of the Smithsonian, but no, I checked and it 'is' in Air and Space. My guess is maybe the connection with planes throughout his military career, like Howard flying him in to rescue Bucky and his squad, and of course going down with the Valkyrie.   
> Here's the link I used: https://marvel-movies.fandom.com/wiki/Captain_America_Exhibit  
> And when I read that, I was baffled too, so I actually googled 'why is Captain America in air and space museum' and got this, with explanations both in-verse and IRL. LOLOL  
> https://scifi.stackexchange.com/questions/105751/why-was-the-captain-america-exhibit-in-the-air-and-space-museum  
> Thought y'all might appreciate.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chrissy finds a way to make her Mandarin article public without affecting her current work. Soiree night brings surprises, including a confession from Clint.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long chapter! enjoy.

In the weeks before the WIN soiree, I organized and carried off a couple more press conferences, and worked with Tony on a system for screening and delivering the Avengers’ fan mail—and hate mail. I offered to shred that and mulch a rooftop garden, or maybe donate it to a kindergarten for making paper mache. Everybody turned me down. Steve said he’d rather know what people were saying about him. I added ‘teach Steve to set up a facebook account’ to my to-do list, albeit with some trepidation.

Many of the reporters at our Q and As were people I had known or at least crossed paths with in my previous career, so it was inevitable somebody would ask how the heck I ended up where I was. I pointed out I had met and interviewed Tony and Pepper long before the advent of Iron Man, so my introduction to the world of heroes had come through them. Besides that, I stole his comment about how they would much rather deal with me than Tony tired and achy and cranky after having handed some tentacled monstrosity its ass; that won some laughs and nods. “The team chose me for my skills and my commitment to communicating the truth,” I told them. “They call me their wordsmith. Words are my superpower, they say. Not sure I buy that, but I can build things the team needs from them. Their trust is an honor, and I work every day to be worthy of it.”

It went over exceptionally well, though I quickly made effort to move the spotlight off me and back onto the Avengers where it belonged. The exchange reminded me, though, that one loose end from my past life remained to be tied up and tucked away. I’d been pondering it off and on for weeks, and finally, I devised a solution that satisfied my conscience without jeopardizing my new position.

One afternoon, I spent several hours online compiling the information available online about Aldrich Killian, his company, and his plot to use the Mandarin identity as a mask for his power grab. More of the truth was already out there than I had honestly expected, enough that in combination with what I had told SHIELD, a fairly accurate, if not richly detailed, description of the guy’s culpability emerged. With some mental gymnastics, I rewrote the article Vanity Fair had fired me over, not in its original first-person format, but as a missive from an anonymous researcher who had gotten a leak from a reliable source. My fictional alter ego was going public with the truth the Man didn’t want the people to know—Killian was not a minion of the Mandarin, but essentially a perpetrator of identity theft.

I set up sockpuppet accounts on several websites, posted the article, and left it there. No great fuss was made. I checked a couple of times, but didn’t see much of any discussion. It saddened me, but I steeled my resolve not to poke it. I had publicized the truth, and that was the best I could do now. 

The day before the WIN party, I got an email from my ex Simon, who was back working in England. Of all things, he sent me a link to my own post. ::Ran upon this the other day. Wondering if you had seen it, or had any input. ‘reliable source’ heh luv?::

I snickered and replied, ::not sayin’ anything, dear heart, not sayin’ a damn thing:: I wasn’t, either. This was my goodbye to my past; now I was moving forward representing the Avengers.

Finally, the big night arrived. Pepper was racing around trying to help the team get themselves together. The windows rattled when Thor landed, with his girlfriend Jane and her overnight bag in tow. He wore full ceremonial Asgsardian armor, and I warned him it would probably get uncomfortable after a while. “Then I shall remove portions, as Lady Virginia deems appropriate. As a visitor to your realm, I shall trust to her judgement in these matters,” he declared. Whew.

I helped Pep into her dress, long teal velvet with a lace insert in back, and she returned the favor for me while she dispatched Tony to assist Bruce. Natasha was AWOL, and I imagined Clint was holed up in his apartment in Bedford-Stuy, eating cheese doodles and watching Real Housewives or WWE wrestling. As Pepper started downstairs to check on the setup, I asked if she needed me to do anything else for her. Before she could answer, the elevator doors opened and Steve Rogers stumbled out, clutching a garment bag. “Oh, uh, hello, ladies,” he panted. “I, um, brought this monkey suit but I’m not so sure I know which parts go where…help?”

“Guess that answers my question,” I told Pepper. “Go do your thing. I’ll take this challenge on.” With a grin, she hopped onto the elevator and wiggled her fingers goodbye. “Okay, Captain, what can I do? I promise, most parts of the monkey suit go about where you would expect them to.”

Riding up to his floor, I prayed that was true. Growing up on a farm doesn’t give one much experience with tuxes, and even after moving to California, I hadn’t dated guys who A, needed help with formalwear, or B, took me anyplace that required same. Fortunately, other than a few bits, a tux is indeed pretty much like any suit. “I don’t even know where this came from,” Steve called from his bathroom. “I didn’t order it. Heck, I wouldn’t have known how. It just showed up, and it fits perfectly, as far as I can tell anyhow.”

“Does somebody at SHIELD coordinate these things for you? A liaison, or assistant, or, what does Natasha say, a handler?”

Steve laughed and came out into his bedroom tucking shirt into pants. “Not anybody that’d do this.” He shrugged on the jacket, and damn, he was right, that tux fit his broad shoulders and narrow hips like it was custom made. I started to arrange his cummerbund and pocket square, until moments later, he stopped me with a raised hand. “Somebody’s up here,” he barely mouthed.

I didn’t hear a thing, but after a few seconds the sound of swiftly moving feet reached my ears through the closed bedroom door. So the stories that the experimental serum that had turned Steve into a superhero had enhanced all his senses seemed to be true. My tense fascination was broken by a knock. “Capsicle!” came a familiar voice. “It’s your landlord, you’re late on the rent.”

With an affectionate groan, I opened the door. “Good thing you don’t have to make your living telling jokes,” I told Tony. 

“Damn good thing,” he agreed. “I’ll continue to skate by on my natural charm and good looks.” Which he definitely could, that night especially, in all black with satin lapels on his tux jacket. “Evening, Rogers. The gear arrive okay?”

Steve had stilled the instant Tony called out, and now just nodded curtly. “Stark. Yeah, yes, it’s fine.”

“Great! It was either order from a place in DC I knew nothing about, or from the place here that I use, and hope it got there in time.” He looked Steve over, and the poor guy tensed even more. “Looks like they got the measurements I sent. Weird, though, seeing the Man with the Plan without his stars and spangles.” Tony spun and looked me over then. “You look amazing, cornbread.” I smiled and let myself preen a bit. After narrowing my choices to three, I had settled on the fitted black lace sheath that hit just below my knee. “Be sure Barton remembers I’ve got new armor here, ready to rock. He puts a hand on you, I’ll repulsor his ass across the Hudson, he’ll wake up in a dumpster in Jersey.”

“Tony!” I smacked his arm. “Clint isn’t even coming. No offense, he said, but parties aren’t his thing.”

He frowned. “Pep texted me that he and Natashalie just got down there.” 

“Oh,” I replied after a couple of seconds that felt like much longer. _Good Lord girl_ , I rebuked myself, _you are going to a high-dollar party with the damn Avengers, don’t you dare pout like you got jilted by your prom date._

“You want me to throw him out?” Tony offered. “I could start a fight.”

“Yeah, you could, and then Pepper would kill you, and then she’d be really sorry, but you’d still be just as dead. I appreciate the offer, though.” He broke into a big grin and I realized he had accomplished what he really wanted, making me smile. “Thanks for being my friend,” I added with a quick hug. “Now get outta here. Go be Pep’s arm candy. I’ll finish helping Steve and be down in a few.”

“Arm candy!” Tony yelled over his shoulder as he departed. “That’s me, still not too old to be a CEO’s boy toy!”

I stifled a giggle. Steve, on the other hand, looked more mystified than Thor confronted with some uniquely Midgardian thing. “Problem?” I asked while I aligned his (thankfully pre-tied) bow tie).

“He did this,” he said with a nod toward the door.

“The tux? Yeah! Doesn’t surprise me; I should’ve thought about Tony right off.”

"And this,” he added, and spread his hands to take in the bedroom, and by extension, I guessed, his entire floor.

I nodded. “He likes to give.” Steve’s brow furrowed. “And?”

“Nothing.” He shook his head. “So, you and Barton?”

“Oh, no.” I quickly explained the situation. “Doesn’t matter; it wasn’t a good idea for me to go with him anyway. I don’t want to start a job and promptly get accused of doing the horizontal bop with my new co-workers.”

“Doing the...well, there will be dancing, but I don’t know that one…”

“Not that sort of dance, darlin’.” I patted his chest. “It’s a euphemism for sex.” 

His mouth opened in a quick silent ah of comprehension, before his voice dropped into a conspiratorial rumble. “If you want to get his attention, I’d be happy to escort you into the party. We can try a dance too, but your toes’d be in danger. I got two left feet.”

“So do I.” I let him tuck my hand into the crook of his elbow. “I’d be honored, Captain Rogers.”

The feeling of all eyes on me, entering the ballroom on the forty-second floor of the tower on the arm of Captain America, was indescribable. It was like being Cinderella, if you didn’t count the blond man at the bar beside Natasha, in a brocade vest, white tux shirt and perfectly fitted pants, looking at me like he wished one of us was anywhere but here. Too bad. 

I went to work, smiling and greeting business tycoons and rising political stars and icons of Broadway. When I spotted Bruce hiding in a corner, I hauled him out and begged him to dance. We sat for a few minutes beside Jane, who was not only pretty but brilliant. I could have been entertained all night by her and Bruce talking science, but once they got rolling, Thor claimed me to educate him in these Midgardian folk dances, which I couldn’t do very well. Of all people, Maria Hill, Nick Fury’s second, appeared in an amazing white evening gown and swept him away.

Pepper’s feet got tired, and she slid off to talk mergers with some peers, so I rode herd on Tony for a little while. I wanted that dance with Steve, but since neither he nor I could do more than keep time, Tony took pity on us, cleared a space, walled it off with a couple of chairs, and gave us an impromptu lesson. “I trust you with her more than I do Robin Hood,” he told Steve before he shoved us out on the dance floor. “Go give Page Six something to talk about besides me.”

“Does he always think everything is about him?” Steve said under his breath. I tried not to glare, but wasn’t successful, if the look he turned on me then was any indicator. “How’d you get so close to him, anyhow? You’re so—”

“Long story, which I will be happy to bore you with some time, maybe over coffee. Right now, let’s both concentrate on sparing each other’s toes.”

We finished our dance and I adjourned to the thankfully vacant bar for a sit-down. That only lasted until Natasha, in a shimmery velvet version of her work uniform, stepped up beside me. “Clint wants to talk to you,” she said after smiling at the bartender. 

“Maybe I don’t want to talk to him,” I responded around my ginger ale, not looking at her.

Quiet amid the murmur of talk and the shuffle of dress shoes across the tile. “There was…a miscommunication,” the other woman said after a minute. “I should have stopped it. Clint is transcendently clueless sometimes, and I didn’t realize it until it was too late.”

I stood with a sigh. “Might as well get this straightened out. Where is he, hon?”

Instead of directing me to a corner or alcove, Natasha pointed. My eye followed her finger up a flight of stairs to the gallery that ran around the walls of the ballroom, and where Clint Barton currently sat perched on the balustrade like the bird from whence his code name came. “Oh, for cryin’ out loud,” I groaned, half to myself. Natasha’s expression spoke of agreement. Up the steps I went. “If you fall off of there,” I said when I got close enough, “and you splatter all over the dance floor, I’m gonna have to explain it to the press corps.”

“Shit happens to me at parties. I told you. Just say that.”

The rail was solid and much wider than it looked from below. I turned my back to the ballroom and hopped up to sit on the railing beside Clint, facing the opposite way. “I figured you wanted me to leave you alone.”

“I’m a moron. I didn’t realize I hurt your feelings until Nat ripped me a new asshole.”

“Clint, granted, you don’t know me well enough yet to know this, but I’m not an unreasonable person. If you’d said you didn’t want to go with me, that would have been good enough.” I glanced over at his sharp profile, and the tiny hearing aid nestled in his ear canal, a barely-visible casing full of Tony’s finest micro-circuits. “It was dumb of me to ask anyway, like I told Steve. I don’t need to start looking like I’m making advances on my new co-workers, especially not—”

“I’m married.” 

“Do what?”

“Married. Kids. The whole deal. Way on the down-low. It’s not even in my SHIELD file.”

“Oh.” I turned carefully and met his eyes. “I’m sorry, Clint. I wouldn’t have acted a fool if I’d—damn Tony’s hide, did he think it was funny to not tell me? Y’all may be down one Avenger right now in a minute, because I may go kill me an Iron Man. I’ll apologize to Pepper later.”

“Tony doesn’t know. None of the team does except Nat. Fury knows, and Hill. Phil did…and that’s all.”

“And now me.”

“Not knowing hurt you. I like you, Chris. I don’t want to hurt people I like.”

“I appreciate that.” We sat side by side, not speaking, but the silence was friendly now. “You ought to tell the others, though, because now they’re going to think I came up here and we made up, and they’re gonna be expecting us to kiss or some such shit.”

Clint cackled, and people started to look up. “Oops. We’ve been made,” he said.

“Yep.” I glanced over my shoulder, then hopped down and took his hand. “Come dance with me. You have to. I need to complete the set. I’ve danced with the whole rest of your squad. Except Natasha, and heads might explode if that happened.”

“You should. She’s good enough to make you look good doing it. She does me.” 

We danced, and then, damn him, between one breath and the next, Clint was gone and Natasha took his place, laughing at my stunned face. Almost all the invited guests and paparazzi were gone, so after an instant, I said, “Fuck it, c’mon,” and we swirled around the ballroom sharing laughter.

“This is really hot,” Tony commented as he and Pepper danced by.

I looked at Natasha. “I’d call dibs on killing him, but I already threatened to once tonight,” I told her.

“I think I take precedence over both of you,” Pepper said dryly.

“Mm, true,” Natasha agreed.

Tony’s eyes widened with fear. “Oh damn, now there’s three of you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Visual aids! Soiree outfits.  
> Pepper, https://www.jpeterman.com/item/wdr-5811/104232/answered-prayers-dress (in vintage blue)  
> Natasha, https://www.jpeterman.com/item/wbl-5821/104232/not-a-jumpsuit-velvet-blouse and https://www.jpeterman.com/item/wpt-5822/104232/not-a-jumpsuit-velvet-pants (fabulous, but suitable for kicking ass in, should the need arise)  
> Chrissy, https://www.jpeterman.com/item/wdr-5817/104232/little-black-lace-dress (easy to hop up and sit on a balcony railing in 😊)  
> Maria, https://www.jpeterman.com/item/wdr-2503/101200301/velvet-evening-dress (in white)
> 
> Oh, and the guys!  
> Steve, https://www.theversatilegent.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/02/Chris_Evans.jpg (no beard, more's the pity)  
> Tony, http://www.purepeople.com/media/robert-downey-jr-aux-oscars-2013_m1532820 (get help. THUD. hehe #sorrynosorry)  
> Clint, http://i.ebayimg.com/images/i/332107989876-0-1/s-l1000.jpg


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chrissy continues her work on building a solid foundation for the Avengers' public image. She also trades craft training with Natasha, helps Steve catch up with the 21st century, and interviews the Hulk. Oh, and a girl squad starts to coalesce.

Tony’s efforts to distract the New York Post were minimally successful. At the next press gaggle, the afternoon after the soiree, a stringer for the tabloid brandished pictures of him, Steve and me dancing all together, and demanded to know if I was seducing both Avengers. I should have stayed cool, I really should have, but I ended up bent double behind the podium, cackling so hard I could barely breathe, for long enough that several reporters were apparently emboldened to laugh as well. When I regained my breath and looked up, the Page Six scribe was beet red. I said, “Come on, people. I promised you I would not give you any crap, but I’m also not going to take any. Crap is not my business. Communicating is. So, please, don’t ask dumb questions!”

A day or two later, Simon emailed to further harass me, this time about my purported affair with Tony. I assured him Tony was the gleeful boy toy of a corporate empress. ::The only reason there aren’t pix out there of me dancing with every Avenger including the Black Widow is that he’s, well, Tony Stark.::

::lol:: Simon returned. ::I thought of you and your hero chum a bit ago. One of my connections in Hong Kong said someone associated with the Ten Rings was looking to make contact with you:: I gulped when I read it. :: Sounds like your repeated public requests for a proper interview with the Mandarin may have finally borne fruit?::

::probably so. Too bad I don’t do that anymore. I’m easy to find anymore though; just send any correspondence in care of Avengers Tower, NYC::

I put any concerns about that out of my mind, and dove into my work. One major goal I had set for myself early on was to push plenty of positive information about the Avengers and reinforce the public’s image of them for the good. To that end, after the soiree, I suggested that since everyone knew who they were now, they should use their newfound fame to support worthy causes of their choice. The public perception of the team was still good overall, the TV images of the battle in New York still fresh in people’s minds; witness children coming up to them asking for autographs, bringing pictures they had drawn, with wide eyes and curious questions. I was determined to use that solid foundation and take full advantage of that goodwill.

After that night, my amiable relationships with the team began to morph into genuine friendships. I treated them all with plain old kindness and courtesy, and made it clear I was always there to help them. Clint seemed to have taken my advice about his little secret; when he dropped in at the tower for training or a meal or just to hang out, I began to hear him casually mention his wife or his children, and the other Avengers didn’t seem surprised. I knew they would keep his confidence, and I prayed for the woman I’d never met, who was tough enough to love him and raise his babies. (Memorably, one time I wandered into the community kitchen to find him drinking tea with Pepper and picking her brain for anniversary gift suggestions.)

Once I got an official online presence set up for the Avengers, I did finally get the courage to introduce Steve to the wonderful world of the internet. It went fine on the whole, although the first time he got into a twitter feud, Nick Fury called me, fuming. Patiently, I explained that if SHIELD had done their job properly in orienting their newly thawed-out superhero to the modern world, he wouldn’t have gone after a small-time neo-Nazi with creative use of vintage insults that went viral and earned him thousands of new followers.

Since SHIELD had, in fact, not done their job, it fell to me. When asked, Steve admitted he had explored the web and was learning a lot, but it was hard, without the requisite background information, for him to know sometimes what was worth pursuing. He wanted recommendations, for music and movies and books. My tastes are broad and eclectic, and I was happy to oblige. Nearly every time he came to New York, we got together for what I kiddingly called an intel briefing.

“Me and Bucky, we loved to go to the movies,” Steve said. He liked Westerns, while his buddy had preferred science fiction and horror. (It touched me to learn that, considering my girlhood fondness for Bucky; that’s where my tastes run too.) They had agreed on some genres, though. Steve shared fond memories of howling with Bucky over Bob Hope and Bing Crosby’s Road movies, and how excited they would get whenever they heard a new installment of the classic Sherlock Holmes films starring Basil Rathbone had arrived at their local theater.

I made a playlist of contemporary Westerns that had inherited some of the heart of the old-school films, but were, shall we say, a little more enlightened. Steve confessed that as much as he had enjoyed watching the cowboys, he had also always felt sympathy for the natives they were displacing. “Those folks were there first! What gave anybody the right to shove them off their ancestors’ land?” he fumed once I got him started. 

The current resurgence of interest in all things Holmesian was a boon too. “We could check out the BBC’s newest version, but it’s set in modern times, so it wouldn’t be much of a mental vacation for you. There is a new series of movies though, only two of them so far, that just bumps Holmes and Watson’s timeline up a bit, from Victorian to Edwardian times. They’re hilarious, and I know the leading man.”

“No kidding! Wow, I forget you rubbed elbows with movie stars.”

“Not so much that,” I laughed while I asked JARVIS to look the first film up. “Back when I first met Tony and Pepper, I kept trying to interview this guy, but every time I’d have the article written up and ready to send to publish, he’d get drunk and fired, or arrested or stuffed in drug rehab or whatever, and I’d have to start over again. It’s been a struggle, but he finally got cleaned up. This was his comeback really, and I think it’s a hoot.” 

Steve asked if I could join him to watch, on the giant TV screen in the common area, so I put popcorn in the team kitchen’s giant microwave and ran up to my floor to get cheesy sprinkles. When I came back, Steve already had the popcorn in his lap, with Clint and Natasha sitting on either side of him on the couch. They both had their hands in the bowl, and Natasha was texting with her free hand. Within minutes, the rest of the team wandered in, Tony with Pepper in tow. They all hollered and laughed, and Bruce, of all people, instigated a mass throwing of popcorn at the screen. Everybody swore Holmes reminded them of Tony, except Tony. 

It was a wonderful evening, and as the credits rolled, Steve said, “We ought to do this again. Let’s watch the other one, the next time I’m in New York. Next Wednesday, I think I’m free. And maybe, next time everybody’s here, somebody else can choose a movie.”

“Absolutely! This is a most pleasing custom. Let us continue it!” Thor declared, and a chorus of agreement sounded. 

I continued to acquaint myself with the various team members and work to gain their trust. True to my word, I suggested to Pepper that we invite Natasha to some of our girl-talk evenings on Tony’s party deck. She didn’t often take us up, but when she did, she appeared with Russian tea cakes from a tiny bakery she had found nearby, if the Avengers had completed a successful mission, and Russian vodka if the mission hadn’t been so smooth. 

The night she turned up, silent, with vodka and a Cuban cigar, when no mission had run in a week, we both offered hugs and didn’t ask why. She looked as though she thought we were up to something. “I don’t hug.”

“You don’t have to, if you don’t want to,” I assured her. “It took me, Lord, how long, Pepper, almost a year? to work Tony up to where he’d let me hug him. Just know, hugs are available, anytime, when you want them. Or just touches. They’re good for you, you know.” Pepper shot me a sly barely-wink; she remembered how I had snuck up on Tony, pointing out the health benefits of touch. Natasha looked unimpressed, but before she eventually vanished into the night, she did pause and clasp my hand, then Pepper’s. “Promising start,” I concluded.

A few days later, Natasha came up to my floor to talk about charity advocacy and found me cross-stitching. The next time we met for business, she brought a bag and pulled out knitting needles and an amazing half-finished lace shawl. It hadn’t occurred to me that baby assassins were taught to knit, but Natasha admitted it was almost the only non-lethal skill she had been taught in the notorious Red Room that she had bothered to hold on to, because it was the only thing she had learned from her masters that created rather than destroying. She also confessed she thought counted cross-stitch was incredible, and asked if I could teach her. “If you teach me to knit,” I countered with a smile. Before long, I was mastering sock knitting, and she had started stitching a suitably obscene sampler for Clint (it had birds on it and said ‘fresh out of fucks’).

My new gig, it went without saying, was not all fun and games. The hardest part was the torrent of asks and media demands for updates when the team was out on a mission. Keeping abreast of their status wasn’t so difficult, since I’m pretty good at juggling several balls at a time and had full access to the team comms. The real problem was that, as I came to know each of them better, it got tougher to behave just as the conduit of news. The part of me that worried about all my new friends, and had a prayer for their safety on constant loop in the back of my head, had to be securely squirreled away until the threat was over and the quinjet was back in its hangar.

During a call-out to Australia to quash a nutty biochemist whose experiment gone wrong had resulted in eight-foot-tall kangaroos stomping parts of the suburbs of Adelaide, I was forced to deliver to the assembled press the information that the Avengers were delayed in returning to the US, due to the Hulk having glommed onto one of the roos and not wanting to relinquish his new pet. When the critter shrank back to normal size, the team dropped it with a couple of Irwins and raced home, but its former holder had not followed suit by the time they landed. Natasha was developing a real knack for calming him down, but on this particular day it hadn’t kicked in yet. “One good thing,” I reassured her, “I haven’t met the Hulk yet, so now I can check that off my list.”

“Maybe you better table that till later, cornbread,” Tony disagreed, helmet under his arm. “Right now he’s like a gigantic grumpy green toddler, just better potty trained…I hope.”

Just then, with a relatively small roar, the behemoth in question stomped across the deck and stopped to crouch and squint at me. “Too late now,” I said. “Hello, Big Green! I’ve been wanting to meet you. I know Bruce, but you and I haven’t had a chance to talk.” I put out my hand. 

“Hulk not puny Banner!” The squint got deeper, as if he was trying to figure out why I wasn’t running and screaming. “Girl not scared?”

”No!” I said. “I’m happy to see you. You saved Tony, and I never got to thank you for it.”

Hulk looked toward Tony, halfway to the Iron Man landing platform, with an enormous toothy grin. “Hulk like Tin Can Man." Tony spun on his heel with his eyebrows halfway to his hairline. "You like too?” he said to me.

“Very much!” I got braver (or dumber) and stepped closer. Hugging him was a half-lost cause; both my arms barely got a good grip on his side. “He’s my friend, and I’d be very sad if he got hurt.”

“Hulk be sad too. Tin Can Man never scared of Hulk. Hulk not want Tin Can Man hurt.” One finger tapped the top of my head; gently for him, I was sure, but it almost knocked me off my feet. I spared a glance Tony’s way, and relished his flummoxed expression. “Banner say you smart word girl. Talk better than Hulk.”

“I like to talk,” I grinned back at him. “I tell people about the Avengers. But you can help me with that. People want to know more about you. Can you tell me some things that you like?”

Hulk cocked his head. “Hulk like to smash!” I nodded and continued to look up at him expectantly. “Hulk like…little baby cats. Drawings on tv that move. Food, what food called—fried chicken! Hulk like that. Goes CRONCH. And big soft cloth to wrap all around Hulk. Make warm and sleepy.”

“Great!” I cheered. “That’s exactly the kind of information I need.” He twitched a little, and Tony started toward us with a gesture telling me Bruce was re-emerging. “The next time I see you, we’ll talk more, okay?” 

“That’s more than I’ve ever heard him talk,” Tony said out the side of his mouth to me, his eyes taking up most of his face. I smiled like a cat in the cream, and at the next presser was delighted to share with the media that Hulk wanted his fans to know he liked kittens, cartoons, naps with soft blankets, and fried chicken. The bags of fan mail started to include more letters to the Hulk, especially from kids who shared his interests. Bruce set those aside, and when his alter ego was available, someone read them to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I know the Avengers movie night is probably an overdone trope, but I couldn't resist. :D Chrissy's actor acquaintance's name is Bobby Elias, I think. Y'all probably know why. lol
> 
> Here's Clint's cross-stitch: https://shop.subversivecrossstitch.com/products/pdf-fresh-out-of-fucks 
> 
> And this one Natasha made for her boudoir: https://shop.subversivecrossstitch.com/products/supplies-for-warning-pdf-pattern 
> 
> I think Nat’s shawl is knitted in the Orenburg style, that originated in Russia.   
> Might be this one: https://www.pinterest.com/pin/277956608227400997/


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chrissy receives a puzzling communication, and takes it to Tony and Pepper for their feedback.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm especially interested in your feedback on this chapter, dear readers! Please, if you have a minute, let me know what you think is going on here...details in the end note.

Handling correspondence, both postal and electronic, took up a good chunk of my days, and I developed a sixth sense of what was valuable and what wasn’t. The day a message landed in my in box headed ‘Mandarin article’, I almost deleted it automatically. It couldn’t have any connection to my anonymous post, because that was, duh, anonymous, and I’d made a point to not even add a comment, under my accounts or any others. But just because I was no longer a reporter didn’t mean I wasn’t still nosy. A little meddling found the message’s IP address, and a little more traced the missive to a server in Kabul, Afghanistan. Torn between curiosity and mild panic, I opened it.

::It is rare to see honor in an American, and surprising, though perhaps it should not be, that we finally find it in an American woman. You are stronger than many men, fearless in speaking the truth, and unwilling to allow even an enemy to be blamed unjustly.:: DAMN. Whoever wrote this had figured out I was behind the post. ::Our operative was prepared to execute Aldrich Killian on his ship in Florida, but you and your compatriots saved us that effort. We want you to know that the dog Trevor Slattery who acted in our name without leave is now ours, and will face our justice.:: What the hell did that mean? Slattery was the actor Killian had hired to impersonate the Mandarin, and as far as I knew, he was tucked away in prison. ::Our faith tells us we will find among our foes a few without treachery. I find no treachery in you, nor in your prince, who does battle with honor and courage. We shall not yield, but I, the Mandarin, extend to you and yours my respect and bond.:: 

For a long time I stared at my monitor, debating what to do next, which was dumb, because I knew exactly what to do. It was just a matter of getting my nerve up to do it. Finally, I texted, ::hey Tony—need to show you something, when you get a minute.::

I printed the email off, and the longer I sat and reread it, the more anxious I got. The Ten Rings had had a spy in Killian’s organization, who had seen enough of the confrontation on the Roxxon Norco to know he was dead, and to figure out I had written the post outlining the true events. Was this a subtle threat, though, and how had they found the post to begin with? An online search, whatever key words were used, wouldn’t lead one to it immediately. Simon suspected me; maybe he had let it slip to his Hong Kong connection, or told it deliberately? Hell, as long as I’d known him, I’d wondered if he was reporting to MI6. He knew things no BBC bureau stringer should know, like the US military radio hack that had been his last gift to me before we parted…

I was about to email Simon and broach the subject delicately, when my phone buzzed with a text from Tony. :: in penthouse with Pep. C’mon up::

By this time, I was so antsy I ran up the six flights of stairs to the penthouse instead of taking the elevator. As I slipped through the fire door onto their floor, I could hear Pepper and Tony’s voices coming from the direction of their living room.

“—you need to tell her,” Pepper was saying.

“No, I don’t need to tell her,” Tony retorted. “She isn’t going anyplace, she’ll be fine. She doesn’t need to have some new abomination that crawled out of the bottomless pit of Tony Stark’s shitty past to freak her out. Since I’m going to Japan with you—”

“You are not going to Japan with me. Not that I don’t love hauling my sexy superhero boyfriend around the world, but Happy and I will be fine. I have so many meetings, I won’t have time to leave the hotel anyway. I won’t need an armored bodyguard.”

“Since I’m going to Japan with you,” Tony continued, blithely ignoring whatever sense Pep was clearly trying to talk into him, “I’ll ask Nat to keep an eye on her. They hang out a lot, doing their spider-web-fiber-thread what the hell ever it is they do. Itsy Bitsy’s been weirdly nice to me lately anyway. She actually apologized to me for that half-assed report she wrote, and the other day, I think she was about to try to _hug_ me, until she came to her senses. May not be her; might be a clone. There better not be some super-villain trying to clone the Avengers. Could you tell if I was a clone, Pep? How would you know? I bet a clone wouldn’t be nearly as good as me in be _mmmmnph_ —”

“Don’t you dare lick my hand,” Pepper warned. “And stop trying to change the subject.”

“Agreed,” I said and walked into the spacious sitting area, where sure enough, Pepper had one hand clapped over Tony’s mouth. “I mean, no comment on the hand-licking thing; that’s between you two, and I have no desire to know more about it. However, since it sounds like the subject of the convo relates to me, please, don’t change that.” Pepper dropped her hand and gave Tony what I had come to think of as The Look; the one that usually makes him behave. Tony audibly gulped. “Well?” I went on. “Spill, hot rod. What’s going on that you think is dangerous enough you want to trail Pep on her business trip, and make Natasha babysit me?” 

Tony waved a hand at the chair across from the couch where they sat, and let out a long breath. “Trevor Slattery was broken out of prison,” he said as I sat down. “We don’t know if it’s AIM, Killian’s minions, but it seems likely.” I made a little noise of comprehension, which he evidently mistook for fright. “Yeah. If they’re going to try putting him back out there as a fake Mandarin, you and Pep are both at risk. Hence why I’m going to make sure—”

“No. It’s not AIM, but I know who it might be, if this is legit.” I laid the paper I’d brought upstairs on Tony’s lap. “I got it earlier today, just got around to reading it.” He picked the page up; his eyes flicked down its length, then up at me, and deja vu overtook me. For a second, I was back in California, at the Firefighters’ Gala, the night I had confronted him with photos of a village in ruins and accusations he was to blame. From those pictures, he had looked up at me with the same piercing look in his dark eyes that I saw now. 

“Mind sharing with the rest of the class?” Pepper said. 

Quickly, I explained everything to her while Tony reviewed the message. “If this email actually originated with the Mandarin, it sounds as if he’s—calling a truce, maybe? At least, he’s avenging what he sees as slander on his name—hah, how’s that for irony—and giving me props for plainly stating Killian lied; and it seems he’s saying in return for that, he’ll make no threat against me or mine.”

“It’s a weird—sort-of relief?” Tony remarked. “Knowing they’ve got the little thespian, instead of AIM. Maybe Ten Rings’ll put him to work doing their laundry.” He let out an unamused little laugh. “The only part I still don’t get is this. ‘I find no treachery in you, nor in your prince.’ Who’s the prince? If he means the President, then is he calling the dogs off on the whole US? Because if so, that’s some power you got there, cornbread—”

“No!” Pepper cut in, her eyes suddenly huge. “The video! Chrissy, remember when I went into Stane’s office to get the files on his deals? You were on the phone with me when—”

“Yes,” I interrupted. I knew exactly what she meant, and from the way Tony went very still, he did too. Dammit, I didn’t want to get this deep, and upset him! “The video you found on the hard drive, sent to Stane by the… the Ten Rings.”

“It’s from that.” Pepper swallowed hard, then laid her hand on Tony’s knee. “It’s you, Tony.” He started, and looked sharply at her. “The man who talked on the video said Stane paid them trinkets to kill a prince. It can’t be a coincidence this writer used the same term. He means you.”

Tony stared at her for what felt like half the night. “I’ll…take your word for it,” he finally got out. I’d never seen the video; Pepper never offered, and I sure as shit didn’t ask. My mouth was half open to ask him _You haven’t watched it?_ then I told myself not to be a damned idiot. If I couldn’t bear to see Tony on screen, hurt and afraid, he certainly had no desire to revisit that particular nightmare fuel. 

Pepper’s voice dropped. “When I saw that, I started to understand. Of course you built armor; how better to be sure nobody could ever hurt you like that again?”

With a deliberate rustle, Tony put the paper aside and took her hands in his. “It’s not just to keep me from getting hurt,” he said, his soft tone matching hers. “It’s you, and Chrissy, and the Avengers, and—and everybody.” Yeah, I’m sensitive to people being overbearing in trying to ‘protect’ me from things I don’t really need to be protected from; but Lord knows, if the Mandarin had really had it in for me, that would most assuredly be something to accept protection from. The thought of Tony putting himself between us and the people who tortured and changed him touched me to my core. “Yinsen told me a story from his people, about a prince banished and put to slave labor. The prince became strong as iron from his trials, and ultimately beat his tormentors. Maybe the Ten Rings guys had heard the same story, just didn’t get the right interpretation.” He shook himself a little, and seemed to return. “Huh. And here all this time, I thought when the Daily News called me American royalty they were just sucking up.”

Obviously, the authorities needed to know about this intel I had inadvertently obtained. Tony promised to call Fury himself, but when he did, the SHIELD director’s response was perplexing. “One-eyed jack could make a damn ham sandwich into a conspiracy,” Tony grumbled. “Now he’s decided some spy is spying on him. No, Stark, don’t forward the email; no, Stark, don’t print it and snail mail it; _no_ , Stark, I can’t talk to you about this on a SHIELD line, or on my cell phone line in my SHIELD office, not that you even have my cell phone line, because he doesn’t know I already do…Oh well, just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean nobody’s out to get you, and hell, his secrets have secrets.” Still mumbling, he put on his coat and went off to meet Fury someplace.

One thing remained before I would consider the matter settled. I didn’t ask, though I suspected my action might not have been exactly approved. My parents raised me with manners though, and a compliment was owed an acknowledgement. ::To the Mandarin:: I wrote, ::I received your message with surprise and appreciation. Truth is a foundation of good life, and as far as it lies with me to do so, I will always speak it. That said, I will speak truth to you. My faith calls on me to forgive those who wrong me; but Tony Stark is my friend, and a good man, and your followers hurt him terribly, and I’m not sure I can forgive you for that. If I read your intent correctly, you pledge not to raise your hand against him, or other I hold dear, for the sake of your respect for me. I will hold you to that, and pray for the day when humans no longer feel the need to raise hands against each other at all.::

That done, I continued with my work. My days filled up with responses to queries about merchandise licenses; requests for interviews and photo shoots; running the official social media accounts, and lurking in chat rooms and discussion forums, to gently nip rumors in the bud and nudge positive word of mouth along (and get some good chortles out of the increasing number of art and stories created by the Avengers’ fans).

My other duties screeched to a halt when the team went out; or, well, they screeched to an operative halt. I kept right on trying to read emails and format press releases and so forth, just to keep myself from chewing my nails down to the first knuckle. This was spectacularly ineffective, especially on days like the one when the Avengers were called to fend off a horde of huge furry critters that some experimenter had accidentally brought through a portal from another universe. (Yes, I thought the multiverse was only a plot device in comic books too. Feel my pain.)

They weren’t aggressive, so it wouldn’t have been so bad if they hadn’t started trying to dig burrows in the middle of a smallish Midwest town. They were distracted from that when an unsuspecting civilian in a new car drove by; they gave chase, and that’s when the team discovered the varmints were drawn to shiny things, and turned vicious when blocked from obtaining them. Naturally, that meant the shiniest thing the Avengers had, with all the self-preservation instinct of a sheet of plastic wrap (see also: Stark, Tony) just had to fly right in front of the fuzzy bastards and grab their attention, so Steve and Natasha could safely free the guy and get clear. The problem then became freeing Tony from the beasties, who from the yells and cursing on the comm were fighting over him like a bunch of hungry preschoolers over the last cookie in the bag.

It took Thor and Hulk in unison to rescue Iron Man from an overdose of possessive cuddles, and the whatever-they-were got herded back into their universe. I let out a bottomless sigh of relief, worked my neck to release tension, and gathered supplies for the team supper I often fixed after missions. With a vat of marinara simmering in the community kitchen, I got back to work, at least until the quinjet landed. I headed for the roof to greet the team, and was myself greeted by the sadly familiar sounds of Steve and Tony arguing as they disembarked.

“You’re so damn reckless, Stark, does it ever occur to you that you might be more valuable to the Avengers if you weren’t dead?”

“It occurred to me the Avengers might be dead if I wasn’t reckless sometimes.” Tony was limping slightly and dragging the remains of the Mark I-Lost-Count. Ignoring Steve’s patented look of censure, he hauled his load toward the express elevator that went all the way down to his workshop in the dungeon—oops, the basement. “Hey, cornbread,” he greeted me with a quick elbow bump. “Get any pervy product endorsement proposals for me?”

“Nope, sorry. Slow day,” I returned his elbow, with care. “Looks like you need a quick trip to medical.”

“Nah, I’m good. Bruises from those damn oversized nifflers, that’s all.”

I sighed loudly. “Whatever floats your boat, Black Knight. Tis but a flesh wound, right?” Tony chortled, punched the elevator button and lugged his suit and his butt onto the car. “I’ll send Pepper after you, then!” I hollered and relished the look of sudden terror on his face as the doors closed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay! Surprised? So, as I said in the header note, feedback! Do you think the message is legit? Did the Mandarin actually send it, and if so, is his pledge to Chrissy truthful?  
> The 'to kill a prince' line is not in the part of the hostage video we see in IM1; the Ten Rings cell leader Raza used it in conversation with Stane, so it makes sense it might have been mentioned in the video too. Remember, we only saw the bit Pepper had time to watch in the office, but no doubt there was more.  
> Yinsen’s story & Pep's line about understanding why Tony built the armor both came from the IM1 novelization.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve opens his mouth one time too many about Tony, and Chrissy, as we say in the South, clean snaps. :D

The other Avengers were piling onto the main elevator, and I joined them, smiling and patting backs and listening to them wearily rag on each other, glad they had all survived another run at the weirdness. Bruce was almost asleep on his feet, swaying in his stretchy Hulk-britches, so we made a stop on his floor and Thor and Clint walked him to his bedroom. I jumped off on the common floor. “Spaghetti in progress, whenever y’all are ready.” _Y’all_ is entirely too useful a word (English is one of the few languages that doesn’t have an official word for the plural _you_ , so Southerners made our own) and I’d gotten tired of fighting the constant need for it, so I just gave up and came clean. Nobody seemed appalled.

A chorus of appreciation came from Natasha, Clint and Thor, followed by a delayed ‘thanks’ from Steve just before the elevator carried them on down to the equipment floor to drop their gear. En route to the main kitchen to put the pasta on, I hoped he wasn’t hurt too, and trying to be all tough and manly about it. Even though he could still irritate me, he was usually decent enough.

I didn’t expect Bruce to rouse himself, so I set some food aside for him, then texted Tony. ::come get your noodles, boy::

::oops, been snacking. Not really hungry right now, sorry. Save me some for later? And Pep too, she’s still at work::

Dubious, I nonetheless let him go. I wasn’t his mama, after all. ::kk. Will stow in the common fridge. I got some awesome cookies from the bakery, will hide some of those for you 2.::

The Avengers who were still vertical and moving crowded into the kitchen and shoved food into their faces, praising it and me when they weren’t dozing off into their bowls (hello, Clint, now go to bed). Only Thor, naturally, seemed unfazed, and headed for the roof after sucking down alarming quantities of carbs, bound for Asgard. “If you hailed from my world, Lady Christine, folk would worship you for your culinary gifts!”

Natasha steered Clint out with quiet good-nights, so I drafted Steve to help me clean up. “Before Director Fury offered me the position here, I told Tony I was halfway considering becoming a personal chef. Didn’t occur to me I might be doing that here too,” I said, tongue in cheek, while I retrieved the cookies. I handed Steve one and popped one in my mouth, munching as I went toward the couch in the seating area with the rest.

Unexpectedly, Steve threw the dishtowel he was holding down on the counter hard. “Tony shouldn’t expect that of you,” he burst out from behind me. “I know, you’ve known him for a while, and you’re so nice, you feel like, I guess, you have to do whatever, since you’re here, but you shouldn’t let him push you around. He wants what he wants, and he’s so—thoughtless. He doesn’t even care about his own gear. Howard would never have built something like that suit and then just torn it up without caring. He valued his tools more. I don’t—”

Something in me snapped. Very carefully and lightly, I set the box of cookies down on the coffee table, before I rounded on him. “If I were a neutral observer, I’d say you are not helping your team cohesion any by running a member down in front of God and everybody, and I would suggest you rein in your negative comments and deliver constructive criticism in private. However, I’m not neutral, and I have had more than enough of your shit.” 

“Wha—huh? Whoa, don’t snap your cap, what’re you talkin’ about?” Steve sputtered, the shock apparently uncorking the Brooklyn accent he usually kept carefully leashed.

“Where in the everlovin’ _hell_ ,” I snarled, “do you get off talking about Tony like that? He’s thoughtless? You just dropped all your dirty bloody tore-up gear in the equipment room—I guess you think the damn armor fairy fixes it? He does. His name’s Tony and you live in his damn house. And yeah, he gets reckless out in the field, to try and keep y’all from getting hurt. I know you knew his daddy, but do not judge him against that or anybody else. From what I hear, Howard was constantly comparing him to you, and now up you pop comparing him to Howard. Well, guess what? He’s neither, praise the Lord, nor is ever gonna be. Hearing that kind of shit all his life, small wonder he thinks people don’t like him, and doesn’t like himself much.” My fists clenched in my pants pockets. The Southern genie was out of the bottle now; If anybody happened by right now, a still-rational corner of my mind noted, they would wonder who these people were and how they got into Avengers Tower. This was not the Christine any of them knew, but I was mad as hell and unrepentant. “You’re right that I’ve known him longer, but I would think you’d figure out that that might give me a little more insight. He wants everything his way? That’s a damn joke. From what I’ve seen, the only reason he takes the lead to make things happen is because he usually doesn’t have people around that he trusts. In the years I’ve known him, there’s only two relationships that I know of that Tony’s been in where he felt safe enough to take direction from somebody else. One is with Pepper, and the other is now with you. He’s never challenged you for leadership of the team in combat, now has he?”

Steve’s mouth opened and closed a couple of times, giving him the air of a hapless fish in a bowl of water. “True,” he agreed. “You’re right. I hadn’t thought about it but…I would have expected him to argue with every decision I made in the field. He doesn’t, though. He goes his own way in the heat of battle—”

“Which was one reason he was wanted on the team,” I interrupted him. “Director Fury told me so.”

“But countermanding my strategies, telling the others what to do—no, he doesn’t.”

“That’s because you’re a soldier. He isn’t. That’s your sphere. I listen to the team communications; I can tell he trusts you know what you’re doing out there, and he respects that. Why do you feel like you have to disrespect him so?”

He sat down on the couch, not replying right away. I remained on my feet; I was still mad as a wet hen, and didn’t trust myself to not smack the taste out of his mouth if he started in again. “You know a different Tony Stark than we do. He’s, he acts so standoffish, glib, around us.”

“Well, yeah, if I had to make a guess, I’d say the best way to keep people who don’t know you from finding out that you aren’t worth being friends with is to act sufficiently obnoxious that they don’t want to get close enough to find that out.”

A part of me quailed from sharing what I had gleaned over the years I had known Tony, but if he was too uncertain to trust, maybe I should. I prayed that my read of Steve was true, and my hope rose at the appalled look on his face. “Why would he think he wasn’t worth bein’ somebody’s friend?”

“Because he always felt like…well, from what he says, his dad was always telling him that he was never good enough.”

Steve shook his head as though dazed. “That wasn’t the Howard I knew. He was my friend, and he could be a, y’know, a jerk, and a grandstander, and he always had an eye for the dames, but he wasn’t cruel. Although I never saw him around kids, so I can see where he might not be parent material.” 

Thank heavens, he was listening now, and thinking. I eased up enough to perch on the couch near him. “There’s a saying: _when you are not fed love on a spoon, you learn to lick it off knives_. Means, if you don’t get the love you need as a child, you fight for attention any way you can get it, and mistake that for love because you don’t know any better.”

“I’ve known fellas like that,” Steve nodded. “Kids at my school that’d rather get a lickin’ than be ignored. So, I guess Tony acts like the big-head, but it ain’t necessarily so.”

I gave a slow golf clap. “Congratulations, you just discovered what I did. I didn’t like him either, or more accurately, I didn’t like the false face that he shows to the world. That asshole identity? It’s as much armor for Tony as the Iron Man suit is. The night we met, he was kinder to me than he had to be, in more ways than one. Afghanistan changed him even more, pushed him more toward his true self, I guess. I know he sounds snarky, but his brain just gets ahead of his mouth. He knows so much, and he tries to communicate it when he thinks people need it, but it doesn’t always come out right. I don’t believe he ever intends to be mean, unless somebody deserves it, in which case he can slice and dice like a sushi chef. If you can get past that mask he puts on to protect himself; if you put yourself out there as somebody he can trust, and you don’t betray that trust…well, you’ve probably already figured out that Tony does nothing by halves, and that includes caring. If he is your friend, he will take on the world for you. And you can take on the world, with a friend like him beside you.” 

“We didn’t get off on the right foot, me and Tony.” Steve’s tone was reflective. “But when he carried that missile off…I stood there, and watched, and thought about how just hours before, I told him to quit pretendin’ he was a hero. And there he was, showin’ me up, provin’ me wrong, and he’d never get the chance to know I knew it…and then the chucklehead came back.” A small half-smile tugged at his cheek. “Then, two classy dames turned up, a newshawk and a business tycoon? Both of ‘em just beside themselves, crazy thankful he’s okay. The reporter,” he went on, with a twinkle in his eye, “administered a chops-bustin’ that Peggy Carter would have approved, and then, this bad-ass colonel dropped in, and he respected Stark too. For people of this caliber to clearly feel so strongly, for this jerk… I remember thinkin’ at the time, there’s got to be somethin’ about him that I’m missin’. When you told us there was an evaluation and they rejected him, I gave Fury an earful, told him no matter what some evaluator thought, or what Stark’s motivation was, the fact was there wouldn’t be an Avengers team, not to mention there wouldn’t be much of an earth to protect, if it wasn’t for Tony Stark.” Steve shook his head again. “Funny though. The footage of him that I was shown by the SHIELD agent who briefed me—that wasn’t a guy who would take on something he knew was a one-way trip, to save everybody else.”

“What footage was that?”

“A thing up in Queens, where he was doin’ his old man’s Stark Expo over again—some clown tried to bust it up, and he put on the suit and ran him off. This was happenin’ about the time they got me out of the ice, apparently. That was the only clip I saw of him as Iron Man, so when I met him, I told him I knew he only fought for himself. Beyond that, just lots of film of him partyin’, hangin’ all over the dames, and a fella or two, looked like. Cuttin’ a rug, gettin’ polluted, wearin’ fancy duds, the whole nine yards.”

“That’s all?” I scowled. “I was there, at the expo. Tony drew all the fire, got those drones to chase him so we could clear the civilians out to safety. I’d hardly call that ‘fighting for himself’. And his wild-child period, that’s ancient history, not something you’d need to know working beside him now. So now I’m gonna have to do SHIELD’s damn job for them again? Lovely. Okay, I’m sure you were at least briefed on the origin of Iron Man. How much were you told about what happened to Tony in Afghanistan?”

Steve looked confused. “Um, I know we’re at war there, but that’s all. I didn’t know Tony was involved in any way, other than buildin’ arms. He always insists he’s not a soldier, and the briefer implied he was just a spoiled rich guy, a weapons dealer who got bored and wanted to play with his fancy suit of armor. I didn’t really question it. Howard was the same way, chompin’ at the bit to get into the action any way he could. I figured Howard got rich with his brains, and then left it to Tony, who didn’t do much but play around with it.”

Honestly, I couldn’t remember the last time my jaw hit the floor that hard. No wonder Steve showed Tony no respect. “I…uh. Ohhh-kay. JARVIS? Hon, could you access the cloud and print some articles off for Steve?” I listed all my Vanity Fair articles on Tony, the ones that had made my name as a journalist: the Vegas interview, the one I called the Team Stark circle-up to quash the rumors about Afghanistan, the in-depth sit-down Tony had asked me to do with him after he came out as Iron Man, my Expo eyewitness article, and even the squick-inducing interview I’d done with Obadiah Stane. I trotted down the hall to the nearest printer and returned with a stack of papers. “You need to read these, when you get a chance. Somebody fell down hard on the job, if their job was to make a proper introduction to Tony Stark and Iron Man.” 

Steve took the sheaf and laid it aside. “Thank you. Now, what about Afghanistan?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before anybody argues with me, Chrissy's observation about the two relationships in which Tony takes a subordinate role does not come from me. I stole it from RDJ, who, I submit, would know better than anybody else. hehe. At first, Chrissy thinks she's just dealing with Steve being fooled by Tony's protective front, until she starts to realize there is something else going on. To my recollection, we never did get an explanation for that random comment Steve makes to Tony in Avengers about seeing footage of him, so this seems as logical an explanation as any. 
> 
> Coming up, more of how Steve's attitude toward Tony was poisoned from the get-go, and Chrissy and Steve pondering how and more importantly why!


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chrissy continues to share the truth about Tony's past with Steve, and they consider how his briefings were so skewed to the negative. Shocked by what he's learned, Steve takes action.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the rest of Chrissy's little come-to-Jesus with Steve. :D I have family stuff to deal with the rest of this week, so thought I'd go ahead and post this now. I hope to post the last couple of chapters of this story over the weekend, and start posting part 5 next week!

With a deep breath, I settled in to summarize the tale of Tony’s captivity and escape. Actually, since Steve had asked on the night of the soiree how I had gotten so close to Tony, I started with our first meeting. I didn’t share any detail the public didn’t already know, and told Steve so. “Anything beyond this is Tony’s story to tell, not mine. You can ask him, just be aware he does not like to talk about it.” 

The blue eyes fixed on me kept getting bigger and bigger as I spoke. “Of course, he wouldn’t,” Steve breathed. “The briefing agent said Tony had been held hostage once for a short time, but not where or when or—this is _months_ you’re talkin’ about, in a war zone!”

JARVIS pulled up on the big TV some of the televised interviews I had done while Tony was missing, and I quickly explained how I had reached out to Pepper to offer help in the media firestorm around his abduction. It had been ages since I’d seen the videos, and it was weird watching the younger me.

I almost skipped the Fox News piece, but steeled myself in the interests of completion. “This one made me so angry, you can probably see me grit my teeth,” I said, striving for a light tone. When the anchor onscreen said ‘do you know how much classified intel Stark knows, and how the military plans to protect it, given that he’s almost certainly given it all up under torture?’ I swallowed hard around the lump that rose in my throat. “If I’d known then what I knew later, I couldn’t’ve stayed that calm. I would have said ‘yes, you asshole. Yes, Tony was tortured; no, he didn’t give up a goddamn thing.’”

“The SHIELD briefer,” Steve said, “told me they suspected the kidnappers broke Tony and then let him go, to come back to the States as a, what do you call it, sleeper agent? Course, they’d implied he was held for just a few days, so I thought, _how weak must this punk be, to give in as soon as his hair got messed up?_ When they first saw the Iron Man, they thought he was buildin’ suits for the enemy.”

“Director Fury told me that.” I bit my lip, and closed my eyes for a moment against the sting of tears. “That theory didn’t last long. Tony doesn’t break.”

“They didn’t tell me that part.” A throb of bitterness crept into Steve’s tone. “When I first met you, and I said we shouldn’t say much around you because you were close to Tony—that was why. Nobody ever told me he had been completely cleared of any collaboration. I ought to apologize to you too.”

“None needed. I owe you the same. I assumed you were just being a jerk, because it never even occurred to me you didn’t know anything about Tony’s backstory.” I turned back to the big screen. “JARVIS, please run the SI press conference when Tony came home from Afghanistan.” I pointed myself out, sitting on the floor, and explained the setup. As the image of Tony settled gingerly at the foot of the podium, the camera panned in on his worn, injured face.

Steve gasped out loud. “Combat stress reaction,” he blurted. “I mean, that’s what we called it, it was the new term then. During the Great War, World War One you say now, they called it shell shock.” He raised a hand to point to the screen, and Tony’s huge weary eyes. “I saw that same look in so many of the fellas on the front. The thousand-yard stare, some guys called it; they turned their face toward you, but they didn’t really look at you.” I remembered how Tony had looked right at me with no apparent recognition—I’d thought nothing of it at the time, since we had only met once. “Fellas muddled through, then, or—or they didn’t.” His voice dropped and he sat silent for a beat, before he straightened and turned to me. The pinched, tense expression he had worn before was replaced by dawning understanding, and horror. “Sometimes they never were the same. We didn’t have folks trained to help with that, not much, but you do now. Has Tony—”

“Yeah, finally. It took forever to bring him around, but yeah, he’s seeing a therapist now, and she seems to be helping him. Rina’s the ex-girlfriend of my friend Eris in California. She’s retired military, and she specializes in combat related issues. When I told Eris a little, discreetly, about Tony’s situation, she thought of Rina right away. Tony says she’s all tough love, which is great for him. At first, he was all like ‘if I have to go to a therapist, it means I’m pathetic’. But he promised Pepper he would, and she held his feet to the fire until he did.” I shook my head in frank confusion. “I don’t understand how SHIELD could have fucked this up so badly, Steve! They told you all this old irrelevant shit, when what you needed to know was who Tony is now, and how he got here.”

“When we first met, on the SHIELD helicarrier…” Steve’s voice tightened, and the Brooklyn faded. “I said we got off on the wrong foot, but that’s an understatement. I told you, I thought he was just goofing off, like a kid playing with toy army men. I said he was nothing without his suit, that I’d known men that were worth ten of him. Loki’s scepter was influencing us, we were all bickering, saying hurtful things to each other, but I still felt bad afterwards. Now, knowing this…if I’d known what he’d been through, I would never, ever have judged him the way I did, or said those things to him.” He grimaced. “I remember after Coulson was killed, I talked about losing soldiers, and Tony got so angry and upset. It didn’t make sense to me then, but maybe he was thinking about those young soldiers in Afghanistan, the ones you said died trying to protect him. I haven’t even told him I was sorry, for any of this.”

It was strangely heartening to hear the regret in Steve’s voice. “Tony’s not good at accepting apologies,” I cautioned, “but that’s only because he’s not accustomed to being acknowledged as the one in the right, and having people ask his forgiveness.”

“Wow,” Steve said. “It hurts to hear that from you.”

“Believe me, it hurts worse to hear it from him. If this scepter affected all of you, I expect Tony will try in his terribly awkward way to apologize for whatever he said to you, too.” Steve made a dismissive noise. “No, now don’t do that to him. Don’t blow it off. I know from experience, you have to let him work his way around to it. Let him express himself the way he knows to. He’s really probably been apologizing to you all ever since, with the things he’s made for you. I think…I think building stuff is the only way he found to get his dad’s attention and approval, so that’s what he does, still, now, when he cares. He gives, he fixes, he builds. When he tries to say he’s sorry, however he goes about it, I’d suggest just accept it and don’t argue.”

“I will. Thanks. I’ll go easy at him, not make a big deal. Just ‘hey Tony, listen, I need to get this off my chest, okay?’ and then let it be.”

“I think that’d work,” I agreed. “He takes things better if he thinks he’s giving you something you need.”

We exchanged a look, and for the first time, I felt a real connection with the man. Then Steve let out an angry huff. “Why didn’t SHIELD tell me this?”

“I don’t know. Either your briefer was totally incompetent, or there is some major shit in the game.” He gave me a quizzical frown. “As in, there’s some reason for it, something we aren’t seeing. Granted, their intent initially was for Tony to just be a consultant, supposedly, but that doesn’t change the basic fact. Why, when SHIELD created the Avengers Initiative, would they not want their team to be well-informed and able to work together effectively?”

“No idea,” Steve said, his tone determined now, “but I aim to find out. Is there anything else you think I need to see or hear, to understand Tony better?”

“A little more backstory, and one more video.” After a brief outline of Obadiah Stane’s treachery, Tony’s confrontation with him, and the revelation of Iron Man’s existence, I turned back toward the TV and said, “Okay, JARVIS, now let’s see Tony’s Iron Man press conference.” 

Steve chuckled at me calling Tony out on his halfhearted attempts at a cover story, so I had to explain I was only trying to help. He then proceeded to laugh out loud at the historic moment, when the entire press corps jumped around the room while I just sat and glared at Tony. “Is he flirting with you?” he demanded. “He’s looking right at you. And he’s _smirking_.”

“Nah, he just knew I was sitting there going I KNEW IT WAS YOU DAMMIT. He told me that later. He was crazy about Pepper already, then, and she was crazy for him, and I knew it.” A good mutual laugh helped ease the anger and concern I had been feeling. 

He asked how after all this, Tony was still rejected initially as an Avenger. I briefly explained, which required a bit of backtracking and a few details about the arc reactor, how Fury had sent Natasha to assess Tony, and the judgement call she had made. Steve scowled over that, so I hastened to assure him Nat had realized her mistake and made peace with Tony. That added information also filled in the missing gaps in his knowledge about the events at the Stark Expo, and ate up most of the rest of the evening! 

With a startled glance at the time, I got to my feet. “So, now you know how Tony came to be Iron Man, and as a bonus, how we became friends. If you want to know anything else, let me know. I’ll tell you what I know from interactions, but like I said, nothing that isn’t mine to tell. You can pass that along to the others, too; I want the team to gel, and I want Tony to be happy, and I’ll do whatever I can to make that happen. Right now, I better get to bed; I’ve got to be up and ready for a Skype press conference in Malaysia at 6 AM.”

“Go. And thank you, for everything,” Steve gathered the stack of articles and stood too. “When you have a minute, Christine, could you show me again how to look things up on the computer? I tried that goggle thing, but I must’ve messed up.”

“It’s Google, not goggle, and yes, be happy to.”

In subsequent days, I began to notice some changes. Steve didn’t snap at Tony the way he had been. The next time Tony pulled some boneheaded stunt to shield a teammate, instead of jumping down his throat, I caught Steve on the comms saying, in a firm but emotional tone, “Tony, don’t you know what an important part of the team you are? You can’t go getting yourself all busted open. Besides, you’re makin’ the rest of us look bad.”

Around the tower, Steve started making a point of seeking Tony out, thanking him for the little things he did every day, asking his opinion, and really seeming to listen. The times that, as I passed through team areas going to point A to point B, I heard some version of “thank you, Tony” from the other Avengers increased as well. It seemed, consciously or not, they were all following their captain’s lead. 

And Tony—he just started to blossom. I saw less of his public face around the tower, less of the brittle, acerbic Tony who kept his own company constantly, and more of the playful, kind friend I knew. It didn’t take an act of Congress all the time now, to pry him out of his workshop for a team meal or one of the now regularly scheduled movie nights. He and Natasha joined forces to prank Clint whenever he stayed over, with spectacular results that had everybody, including Clint, howling. When I mentioned I noticed her and Bruce making excuses to sit near each other whenever she was in the tower for movies or dinners or meetings, he cornered his science bro, pestered a confession out of him, and started planning to help Bruce woo her. Frankly, knowing Tony’s abysmal track record in such pursuits, that scared the piss out of me, until Pepper acknowledged she had wormed her way into the plot and was countering Tony’s worse ideas. (The tiny bot he built and named Yenta, to deliver flowers and little gifts to Natasha’s door on the sly on Bruce’s behalf, was in my opinion one of Tony’s best ideas ever, though.)

The evening Steve declared the Avengers’ resident squishy genius needed to be able to defend himself properly if his suit was out of commission turned into an event. The entire team trooped off to the gym, sweeping along anybody who happened to be within earshot, including Jane and her wacky assistant Darcy who were visiting; Pepper and Happy, just back from a business trip to Germany; and me, of course. We circled the mats in anticipation as Tony and Steve squared off. Clint and Natasha had their heads together in the back of the pack, and I was pretty sure they were placing bets. “Tag me in Stark, I’ll tase him for you!” Darcy yelled.

“We should have brought snacks,” Thor fretted.

“No need,” Bruce retorted. “We won’t be here that long. Steve’s a super-soldier, for pete’s sake. Tony’s best option is to run as soon as time’s called.”

“Savages,” Tony threw back over his shoulder. “Bloodthirsty savages, all of you. And you, Banner, of all people, stabbing me in the back! Oh the pain!”

“C’mon, you mooks,” Steve laughed. “This isn’t a civil war! I need to see what Tony’s capable of already, so I know where to start working with him.” To Tony, he added, “If I don’t bring you down, let’s go as long as you can. Ready?”

“I was born ready, Rogers. Bring it.”

Happy groaned. Pepper and I exchanged knowing looks. I smiled. “ _Bòzhe mòi,_ Christine is smiling,” Natasha hissed. “What do you know that we don’t?”

“Me? Absolutely nothing.” Which might be true. Tony’s fighting skills were something he kept very, very close to the vest. If he was going to let anybody in on this particular little secret of his, it would be the other Avengers; but it remained to be seen if his trust in them had built to that level yet. I hoped so.

The men in the middle of the rough circle started to move. I found myself leaning this way and that, thinking through the things Natasha and Clint had taught me, how I would dodge and fake if threatened by the force Steve wielded. Within seconds, it was clear Tony wasn’t going that route. He held nothing back, all the mixed martial arts he had quietly studied erupting onto the floor in a blur of blows and kicks, spins and blocks. 

Around me, people gasped. Tony used his smaller size to his advantage, speed and quickness joined to his mind always half a dozen steps ahead, dancing forward and back and landing shots whenever he could. Steve was good, no, great at hand to hand combat, the best there was, but Tony was making him work. “Thor’s right, we should’ve brought snacks,” Darcy mouthed.

Even as cheers for Tony’s moxie made the gym walls ring, I knew the fight would end soon. Super soldier strength was legendary, but so was super soldier endurance (I pitied the lover who landed Steve; they’d be worn out, much of the time, if they didn’t take care of themselves). In a real-world situation, Tony would, sensibly, engage such an opponent only long enough to locate an escape route before his foe wore him down.

Neither man looked inclined to yield, though. The duel went on, far longer than even I anticipated. Pepper even started to look worried. Finally, Tony began to slow, and started to block more than attack. Steve seized the advantage, and with a couple of quick punches and a sweeping motion of his body, Tony was on his back on the mats. Steve held his upright position for a beat or two, and then flopped down beside him, and they laughed loudly together. The tension eased out of Pepper’s stance; whoops filled the space and Clint and Natasha exchanged bills.

After a few moments, Steve rolled easily to his feet and put out a hand. “You been holdin’ out on me, buddy! Never said you were such a scrapper.”

“You never asked, Cap,” Tony grinned and let Steve pull him up to stand. The onlookers crowded around with praise and back-slaps. I saw the moment it got to be too much; Tony’s eyes darted around, locked in on Pepper, and used what looked like his last dregs of energy to duck through the press of his well-intentioned teammates to her side. “Good times, super friends!” he hollered. “I’m booked for another variety of physical endeavor right now, though. Night!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, now we know why Steve was snotty to Tony, and to Chrissy, from the beginning. I like to think Dr. Erskine was right, and Steve is a good person, so once he was set straight, he felt compelled to act on this new information, with heartening results. 
> 
> (points to Hydra-fuckery tag) Remember though, nobody in-verse knows HYDRA still exists yet, much less what they might have infiltrated...
> 
> _Bòzhe mòi_ : roughly OMG in Russian. lol. Yeah, Nat first met Tony in a gym, but I suspect he didn't unleash anywhere near what he's capable of while in the ring with Happy. :D
> 
> A tumblr poster pointed out that in the fight scene in Civil War, Steve uses his boxing skills as we see him working out on bags, etc, while Tony uses the MMA moves we see in the Iron Man films (including the ones he borrows from RDJ, of course) so I thought it would be interesting to see them spar.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and the other Avengers continue working to help Tony understand he is needed, accepted and welcomed as an essential part of the team. Chrissy feels Steve needs some help of his own, though, and gets surprising backup on that project, as the Avengers grow closer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a long final chapter! Hope y'all have enjoyed this story and weren't bored. It was sort of a set-up and fill-in of stuff that would have taken place off screen, but that I felt was very important to have happen and for you all to see.

Near midnight that night, I was on my floor in the room I’d officially designated as my office, bouncing to Springsteen and collating information for team meetings the next day, when JARVIS said Steve was at my door. “Hey Christine. Are you busy?” he asked as I let him in.

“Just sorting requests for product endorsements to go over with y’all in the morning. Tony always gets so excited when something freaky gets submitted, and I got one from a company that wants to make Iron Man condoms. Freaky _and_ responsible. He’ll love it.”

Steve’s ears turned pink, but he regained his composure in only a moment. “Betcha a ten spot he makes up some crazy slogan for ‘em. Something like ‘Iron Man always suits up before going into action, you should too’.” 

Caught off guard, I shrieked with laughter. He looked pleased, and we chatted for a few minutes before he said, “I went to Fury about the gaps in my briefings. He seemed pretty puzzled too; he checked, and found out that agent left SHIELD shortly afterwards.”

“How convenient. I’d say good riddance to Agent Shit-For-Brains, but…something weird’s going on here, Steve.”

“Weirder than you know. I asked you to teach me to use the google again, so I could check the rest of the team out on the line. Not much out there on Natasha or Clint, obviously, or Thor, but I found out some of the information I was fed on Bruce was off base, too.” I didn’t ask for details, and he didn’t offer. “Fury wouldn’t tell me much, but he’s been looking into this whole thing, the messed-up communications, the dropped messages, maybe false messages, and bad intel.”

“I can look into it too,” I offered. “I’m a SHIELD employee now, so I have a dog in this fight.” Steve frowned. “I mean, I have a stake in what happens,” I clarified. 

“No, you don’t need to get involved. You’re managing the Avengers, and we’re more than enough for one person to have on her hands. Speaking of hands…I have another question about Tony. After we finished sparring, he seemed really happy, but then people started closing in, and he took off. I’ve noticed he says all the time he doesn’t like to be handed things, and I wondered, does he not like to be touched? Pepper touches him, of course, Rhodey does too, and you’re all over him, but it made me think. Is that related to what happened to him in Afghanistan?”

“I don’t think so. As far as him not liking to be handed things, honestly, I never asked because I never thought it was my business. Everybody has their quirks, I just decided that’s one of Tony’s. I can adapt to it, it’s fine. Now that you bring it up, though…If I was going to make a guess: in our society, when someone hands you something, you're expected to take it. So anybody, friend, enemy, or random stranger, can make you do something, in other words take the thing they are handing to you, without you making any informed decision. Tony doesn't like for people to have that sort of power over him. Needless to say, when he was held prisoner, control over his life was taken from him, but in a lot of other ways before that, throughout his life, it has been. Paparazzi snapping photos, his business partner plotting to kill him and take his company… and I know, he doesn't like doing things without personally determining what he's doing, for who, and why. Anyway, if I had to develop a theory, that would probably be it. But as far as having an aversion to touch—Lord, no, he needs touch. I’ve always suspected he’s never gotten enough! I’m a terribly touchy person, you may have noticed—”

“I may have noticed,” Steve returned with a little grin. “I am too, with people I know. Me and Bucky hung all over each other. From what I’ve picked up about today, how that’s interpreted, I bet folks now would think we were…lovers, but really we were like brothers. His family pretty much adopted me after my mom died, so--” He made a face that conveyed the distinct impression that a romantic relationship with Bucky Barnes would have felt like incest.

I remembered the wartime photos of Captain America and his wingman practically joined at the hip. “Touching the people I care about, it’s natural to me, but if it had really upset Tony, I wouldn’t have. It wasn’t that it made him uncomfortable, though. I’d see him start to reach out and then, he’d shy away, like—like he was scared, almost, and protecting himself. So, I made it a running joke. I told him that I was launching an evil plan to get him used to touch. I asked, and educated him on the positive results, and didn’t even expect him to touch me back, just tolerate. Heaven knows, he knew I had no designs on his body, and didn’t want anything other than his friendship.”

Understanding and a hint of sadness touched Steve’s eyes. “It’s like you said before,” he said. “All his life, people wanted a piece of him. They only gave to get something in return. I remember reading, back in my day, about this scientist studying how animals could be taught things by conditioning. Train them that if they saw this picture, or did this trick, they’d get that treat. Tony’s like that, isn’t he? Life’s conditioned him. If he gets, he’s expected to give. But the reverse, it’s not true. He keeps giving, even when people—when we—don’t give back to him. I haven’t even said thank you, much.” He made an angry little noise and raked a hand through his hair. “I’m a jerk.”

“You’re not a jerk! You’re just not perfect, and who is? Nobody I know.”

“Yeah, but he probably thinks I don’t appreciate the gear he’s made, or the tech—I’m not scared of modern mechanics, just a little unsure. Bucky was the, what d’ya say, the techie in our friendship. But…yeah. People do better when they get touched, I know that. When I was a kid, I caught germs so easy, my mom barely put her hands on me in the winter ‘specially, to keep from gettin’ me sick. Bucky didn’t worry about that, and I—I could feel the difference. I’m gonna do that. We can do that, for Tony, like you did. We can get him used to us, just friendly teammate touches, little gifts from us, not askin’ anything of him in return.”

I smiled a little. “Your Brooklyn is showing. It sneaks up on you when you get emotional, like my Southern does.”

Steve’s chuckle matched mine. “I was looking at some apartments in Brooklyn the other day. Thought I might wanna move back to my old neighborhood. But it’s not my old neighborhood, not anymore. Most of the places I remember are gone, and, course, all the people are.” 

I took his hand in mine. “It must be hard for you to deal with. If you think it’ll help, you can always come vent to me.”

Steve’s other big hand covered mine. ‘Thanks, I’ll remember that, Chris. You’re real kind.”

“I think your whole team is. They’re all good people, just, kind of wounded, in different ways. Once you all learn to reach out to each other, the bad guys’ll have real reason to fear the Avengers.” 

“It helps to have somebody like you on our side.”

“Eh, I do what I can. Like I’ve told Tony, I’m not a professional listener, but I’m a pretty good one. I’m sure SHIELD has you hooked up with a good therapist, though.”

“Ahh, no, not really. Or, just no.”

“What? Steve, that’s not good!”

“I’ll get by.”

“You shouldn’t have to! I’mma have to go give Fury another piece of my mind, apparently.” To Steve’s suddenly questioning look, I said, “Never mind, long story.”

I spent a while trying to persuade him. For all his concern that Tony should be working with someone to help him heal from his past traumas, Steve insisted he would be just fine without outside help. Undeterred, I had an idea. The next morning, I met with Tony and brought joy to his heart with the news about the condom licensing request. When I shared Steve’s slogan idea, Tony rolled off the common room couch and lay on the floor, laughing so hard he kicked his feet in the air like a little kid. “Damn, there’s my cardio for the day,” he gasped, his face alight, as he clambered back onto the sofa. “Rogers said that? There are people out there who’d need a defibrillator if they thought America’s golden boy even knew what a condom was. Is it bad that I kinda like knowing he isn’t nearly as perfect as that public image?”

“It’s not bad at all. He’s as human as anybody. in fact, there’s something I thought of, that you could do to help him out. I’ve talked to Steve a few times, and he’s a great guy but—like you just said, people expect him to be flawless, and he’s not. He’s having some trouble adjusting, which is understandable. I mean, think about it; subjectively, it’s like, within only a few months, the whole world changed around him. SHIELD hasn’t gotten him a counselor, though. I’m not sure why, but I think he’s kind of resistant. They didn’t really do therapy back in his day, you know, and he seems uneasy about the whole prospect. So I got to thinking. You like your therapist, right?”

“Yeah. Dr. Rausch puts up with my smart-ass mouth, so she’s probably eligible for sainthood by now.”

I nodded. “I was thinking, maybe, _if_ you feel comfortable doing it, it might help Steve if you told him a little about what your sessions with her are like. Nothing personal, of course! If you don’t want to, that’s fine, but I thought if he knew what to expect, he might be more open to trying. And he really respects you.”

“Ice Cube respects me? Now you’re bullshitting, cornbread.”

“No, I am not. Talk to him, Tony, and see if I’m not tellin’ you the God’s honest truth.” 

He did. I didn’t hear back from him about it, which, knowing Tony, meant I was right; so I didn’t pursue it. I just went about my daily work, and a week or so later, Steve flagged me down. “I just wanted to thank you for the talk about therapy, Chris,” he said with a little smile. “It sure feels good, having somebody to talk to, who listens and suggests things I can do, every day, to make me more … ‘comfortable in my skin’, she says, which really is right.”

“I’m so glad,” I said sincerely. “You got onto SHIELD’s butts, I guess, and they set you up with somebody?”

“What? Oh, no. Tony took me to his therapist.”

“He…took you to his therapist,” I repeated. 

“Yeah. Dr. Rausch is swell. She’s not what I imagined a therapist would be. She doesn’t stand for nonsense, and she makes me think; talks about how it’s really a sign of strength to be aware of how stuff makes ya feel, and let yourself be straight with the people that are important to you, while you got ‘em.” 

“So, you and Tony talked, and he offered to go with you, or what?”

“A little. I asked him a few questions, told him how much I appreciated him taking the time to answer them; then all of a sudden he just grabbed me and said c’mon. I thought he just wanted to show me where the office was, but when we got there he wouldn’t leave me in the waiting room—I dunno if he thought I’d fly the coop? but he dragged me in and told the doctor I was his ‘emotional support superhero’.” Steve chuckled. “Then he flopped down in a chair, and before he proceeded to talk her ear off, he told her she better be good, ‘cause she was auditioning for the job of my therapist. She dropped her head and looked at him over her glasses—that look could’ve stripped paint off the wall.”

“I bet.” I couldn’t decide whether I was more appalled or amused, a typical reaction to Tony. “Well, that’s—that’s great.” It was also probably seven different varieties of HIPAA violation, but try telling Tony that.

Any concern about the latter was soothed when Steve added, “Yeah. Thank you again, so much. And I’m told I am not allowed to repeat anything that’s said in there, so that’s that for that.”

He didn’t have to; I was just happy to know things were being said. In the ensuing days, I was equally happy to note that not only had Steve obviously implemented his plan to get Tony used to touch, but true to his word, had enlisted the rest of the team as well. I began to notice them all going out of their way to follow their captain. 

Thor hugged like he breathed, all the time and without thought, which, after the initial shock, was glorious, for me anyway. He cornered me one afternoon to declare, “Lady Wordsmith, I owe you thanks. in the past, when I attempted to express my fondness for our friend Anthony through physical contact, he was unwelcoming, and I feared I had given offense. However, Captain Rogers has cleared my disquiet by informing me of Anthony’s deprived childhood. Embraces are precious among shieldmates, particularly in the aftermath of battle; but if one has never had them, it’s clear one would feel ill at ease at first when they are proffered.” He leaned in with a conspiratorial wink. “We must proceed as a rider would in winning the heart of a mistreated steed, slowly and with great care. The captain credits you with initiating his enlightenment, so you have my gratitude for sharing your wisdom.” With that and another massive hug, he headed off down the hallway. Just as he was passing the elevator, Tony stepped out dressed for a meeting, and Thor halted. “Friend Anthony! Well met, shield-brother!” Two huge arms wrapped around and nearly picked Tony bodily up off the floor. “I fare forth to aid my father’s armies in defense of Asgard. May all your endeavors meet with success, and your heart be uplifted, until we meet again.”

“Uh, you bet, Point Break. Watch your back. See you soon.” Tony staggered a little as Thor put him down and resumed his progress to the roof with a jaunty wave. “Since when did everybody get so handsy with me?” he asked, half snarky and half bewildered, when I walked up to him. “Steve just grabbed my shoulders and said hey on his way to the gym floor, and this morning in the lab Bruce zapped _me_ instead of the other way around.”

It was a tad alarming to hear. I hoped he could learn to accept the affection of friends and teammates, but I didn’t want him to feel pressured either. “I’m sure they just want you to know they like you and care about you. But don’t make yourself uncomfortable to make them feel good! is it bothering you? Because if it is, Tony, all you need to do is ask them to back off—”

“No, no, it’s fine. It’s kind of—nice? Yeah. Weird, but nice. I’m just not accustomed to being everybody’s pet. Yours, yeah, and Pep, and Rhodey, but not all of earth’s mightiest heroes.” He scratched the back of his neck, a gesture I’d come to recognize as one of unconscious discomfiture. I patted his back, and we walked down toward the sitting area. Tony flopped down on the couch and parked his high-dollar shoes on the nearest table.

“I think,” I returned, settling a bit more decorously beside him, “the whole team are people in need of touch. I’m no psychiatrist, but none of y’all had what I’d call anything close to an average childhood, or for that matter adulthood. Everybody needs touch! So I imagine they’re reaching out for that.” Yes, I was deploying that same little ploy to win his consideration of an idea, knowing how, sadly, Tony usually put the needs of others before his own.

As he often does, Tony proceeded to surprise me. “True,” he nodded, his lips puckered slightly in thought. “Like Dr. Rausch keeps preaching to me, it’s okay to need.”

I suppressed a grin of delight. Instead, while Tony rambled on about the meeting he had just escaped (I kept an ear cocked for the elevator, halfway expecting Pepper to appear in hot pursuit), I rubbed his back in firm and gentle circles. The muscles beneath my palm twitched slightly, reminding me of riding ponies with my cousins when we were kids and rubbing them down afterwards, when they were tired and enjoying the attention. After a couple of minutes, a little sigh escaped him; he shifted, then pressed back into my hand.

Natasha came out of the common kitchen with a half-empty bottle of pomegranate juice in one hand. As she passed behind where we sat, she ruffled Tony’s hair like a bratty kid sister, and smirked at me. “Hey!” Tony yelped. “Watch yourself, Natashalie! It takes a lot of work to get this casual do GQ-ready!” He stared after her, looking confounded, but with a small smile. It looked as if Steve’s plan was coming together. The last step, I figured, would come when Tony felt safe enough to reach out himself, and start initiating touch with his teammates. 

That step was taken some days later. After the Avengers’ latest successful mission, I had pledged to fix a full-on country ham breakfast. Tony was griping about his blood pressure while simultaneously shoving the blessed salty meat in his face, and Steve and Thor were demolishing my third cookie sheet of biscuits (drowned in red-eye gravy this morning, of course; sawmill gravy goes with sausage) when Clint slouched into the kitchen. “You feeling okay, Barton?” Bruce inquired around his glass of milk.

With a huff, Clint dropped into his chair. “Just talking to Cooper. His little girlfriend broke up with him last night. Kid’s out of his mind. I didn’t know what to say to him! Hell, when I was thirteen I was fending for myself, not fending off girls!” He slumped and stared into the coffee mug Natasha put in front of him. “As a dad, sometimes I’m shit.”

“Sometimes you’re shit anyway,” Tony piped up. I turned from the stove with Clint’s preferred runny scrambled eggs on a plate, in time to see Tony put a hand firmly on Hawkeye’s shoulder. “You listened to the kid. That makes you a better dad than most, Katniss.”

Clint glanced over, a brief look of surprise plain on his face, then up at Tony. “Thanks, Stark,” he said simply.

“No charge.” Tony slapped him on the shoulder. “Now, eat some of Chrissy’s addictive hardtack before I give myself a stroke on it.”

“This ‘hardtack’ as you so dismissively call it is food literally fit for royalty,” Thor declared while he mopped the last streaks of gravy from his plate with the last biscuit, stolen off Steve’s plate. “Lady Christine, I beg you to allow me to escort you to Asgard one day, to prepare such a repast for my parents. My father Odin is fond of good food!”

Well, that was an offer you didn’t get every day. How had my life become something so crazy and wonderful?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The scientist Steve mentions is the famous behaviorist B.F. Skinner—his work began to gain notice in the late 1930s, so Steve, being a bright sort, might easily have read about him in a magazine of his time.
> 
> Someday, I may write a short insert about Chrissy going to Asgard… :D
> 
> The next story in the Wordsmith verse, Sick Of All the Insincere, is now up! It picks up a couple of months after this ending, and covers the events of Captain America: The Winter Soldier, and shortly thereafter. As you may guess, with the team dynamic in this verse somewhat different from canon, things will unfold rather differently.
> 
> Thank you all for reading and commenting!


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